


He Just Wouldn't Stay Away

by cygnaut



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Max Comes Back, Platonic Life Partners, Road Trips, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnaut/pseuds/cygnaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>"Your mad man is back."</p>
</blockquote><br/>Max comes back in a busted old van with an even more busted leg. It's not a social call—there's a new threat out in the wasteland making its way toward the Citadel.
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Max limps back two years later.

He refuses to get out of his car or answer questions when the patrol finds him. They circle around his dusty GMC Vandura and are ready to take him prisoner right up until Toast recognizes him.

The van is painted with a massive winding crazyweed in neon colors on one side and a shaman working magic on the other. It’s clearly been stolen from the Feral Lads, a tribe of desert wanderers who believe that drinking the poisonous pus that oozes from crazyweed is a sacred rite. They mostly keep to themselves, unless you make the mistake of overturning one of the rocks that shade their sacred gardens. It’s a waste in Toast’s opinion; all that time tending and watering a weed that confuses the mind and doesn't feed the body.

Max won't get out of the van, but he puts his hands out of the window when Toast gets off her motorcycle. Maybe he recognizes her too, or maybe not. It's hard to tell with him.

"It's okay," Toast tells Lamb, who’s sighting Max down the barrel of her rifle. Toast rests her hand on the end of Lamb's gun and pushes it down to point at the ground. "It's the mad man. The one who helped Furiosa and us on the rig."

She gets the other three scouts to back off as she approaches the van. Max's face is impassive as she calls out to him. He shrugs when she asks where he's been, but nods when she asks if he needs anything.

"Why don't you ride back with me?" Toast says, nodding toward where her cycle is parked. "This thing looks like it's on its last legs. We can send a scavenging team out to tow it back in the morning." Max hesitates, so she adds, "There aren't any raiders out here. They're too afraid of Mother's Peaks." She points behind them toward where the Citadel is silhouetted by the setting sun, in case he hasn't heard the new name. The wretched came up with it shortly after the coup. They call it that or simply "the teats." They aren't the wretched anymore either. Now they're just the people who live there.

Max thinks about her offer and opens his door after a long moment's consideration. She sees why he refused to get out of the van. He has to pick up his left leg and bodily drag it out of the car. Moving it clearly pains him and he pauses with his hands braced on the sides of the door once he’s done. He sits sideways and breathes heavily before he has the strength to pull himself up to stand on his one good leg.

Behind him on the seat is a mangled pile of metal. He reaches for it and nearly stumbles, not quite able to manage. Toast helps him get it out and sees that it's a twisted series of thin tubes with a joint in the middle. He seems reluctant to let her take the mangled thing, so she watches as he loops it over his shoulders. She finally realizing that it must be the remains of his leg brace. It looks like it was run over, probably while still on his leg.

Max can't put weight on his bad leg so Toast wheels her cycle over to him and holds it steady while he climbs onto the passenger cushion to ride pillion. He lets out a muffled grunt of pain when she gets on herself and kicks on the motor. His grip is tight around her waist and she can tell the vibrations are torturous to him during the long ride back to Mother's Peaks.

When Toast was a child, before she became Joe’s "wife," she lived with her mother at an oasis in the wastelands. There was a cat they used to feed, a scrappy desert animal with fur the color of sand and ears tattered from fights with other toms. He used eat the vermin that infested their storerooms and they would leave water out for him whenever they had some to spare. Toast was the only human he deigned to let touch him, and she used to scritch him under the chin while he purred.

Despite an abundance of plenty, sometimes that cat would disappear for months. Her mother always said he must be dead, finally killed by wild dogs or run over on the motorway. Toast remembers crying for him as a child, imagining her poor mangy cat dead on the side of a road somewhere. Yet still, every time, he came back. That cat would wander out of the desert with new scars and an expectant look, and he’d yowl if they let his water bowl go dry while he was away.

That’s why she wasn’t surprised to see Max again. She knew he’d come back.

She signals for a medic as soon as they arrive, waving to the team of responders that's waiting up in the emergency lookout over the ground-level motor pool.

A team of former War Boys comes running. They’re dragging a stretcher and clearly delighted to have something to do after a long, boring shift with no action.

One of them tries to take a look at Max's leg, but he snarls at the touch. Toast waves the overly-enthusiastic medic back. "No, don't bother. Just take him straight to Hospital."

The medics hold the stretcher up—a former car door with seats for cushions and rags for handles—and Max lowers himself onto it awkwardly. Toast piles a few pillows behind his head. Once he's positioned as comfortably as they can manage, four of the medics take off running with him. One holds onto each of the handles while the other two race behind as they climb the thousand steps up the side of the peak. It's a rest day, so the lift isn't operational. It only runs for resupplies and commerce on market days, or for emergency reasons during a siege.

Toast watches with some concern as the medics make their way to the narrow spindly steps, although she's seen teams carry heavier loads in more dire circumstances. On the way up, they enlist a small boy on the stairs to be a siren and he runs ahead of the stretcher screaming loudly for people on the stairs to let them past. It's all a bit much. Max looks rather pale by the time they reach the top of the stair and dash into the main tunnel which leads inside.

There are narrow holes drilled into the rock below the stairs; circles barely big enough to fit a hand inside. Furiosa wanted to be able to dynamite the stair at a moment's notice if a siege army ever broke through the new city walls and defenses. The people have used the holes to hang flagpoles and prayer banners, making them look festive, but Toast always remembers their true purpose when she climbs to the top.

Knowing Max is in good hands, Toast goes to the cantina to get breakfast. Hospital used to be known as Bolshi Mama and she has plenty of experience dealing with frightened soldiers who can't tell a healing touch from a threatening one. One cagey road warrior won't be a problem for her.

Furiosa is in the cantina, sitting with her back to the room so she can look out at the wasteland and doesn't have to see the nervous, worshipful expressions on people's faces as they steal glances at her.

Toast sits down next to Furiosa and takes a roll off her plate without asking. "Your mad man is back," she says and takes a bite.

Furiosa turns sharply in her chair. "Is he injured?"

Toast nods. "His leg. It looks pretty bad. Probably broken, but I think he'll get to keep it."

Furiosa stands and marches to the door without even a nod goodbye. Toast is more than happy to appropriate her plate of food and cup of water. Scouting is hard work, even on days when you don't find a crazy man in the desert.

___

Furiosa does not run to the medical bay. She walks with purpose, albeit a more hurried purpose than her usual pace which is already nearly a jog. She's always hated journeys and the long process of getting places, an ironic opinion for an Imperator in charge of a War Rig. It's what made her so good, though. She was always eager to get to her destination as quickly and efficiently as possible. She's spent too much of her life in transit to waste another spare second getting where she wants to be.

She arrives in the waiting area outside the medical bay and sees a team of stretcher-carriers who really should be on their way back to their post by now. One of them with a mohawk has his back to her, and as she approaches she hears him say, "He's not really _hers._ He's a wild man, you know, like a hermit. Belongs to the road."

The group falls silent as she passes, one or two of the medics nodding their respects. As she heads toward the curtained exam rooms, she hears one of them ask, "I thought hermits lived in caves?"

"Some of them do, but some of them wander about, itinerant-like," says the one with the mohawk, who has apparently gained an extraordinary amount of knowledge from his minutes-long acquaintance with Max.

Furiosa finds Max behind one of the curtains at the back lying on a bed while Hospital probes his leg. He's dirty and sunburned and his eyes can hardly focus on her, but his beard looks only a few days old and his face is plumper than Furiosa remembers. He's been eating, wherever he's been.

Max’s eyes turn to her and he manages to press his lips together in an approximation of a smile. Hospital, on the other hand, ignores Furiosa's entrance, as is her wont. Hospital is a brisk woman. She handles worried companions with the same efficient manner that she deals with wounds—only sparing the precise amount of time necessary for each task and ignoring anything that doesn’t require her attention. So Hospital doesn’t acknowledge Furiosa as she pushes aside the curtain and enters, but she also doesn't stop her from sitting down on the bed on Max's other side.

"You look awful," Furiosa tells him. He grunts in response and winces as Hospital finishes tying off a split. His pants are in tatters around him where Hospital cut them off, leaving him bare. Furiosa can see deep bruising across his shin where it looks like he was run over by something heavy. The skin is scraped and torn in some places, and his knee is inflamed. The old scars from the gunshot that ruined his knee years ago are swollen and red, like the old injury is flaring up in sympathy with the new one.

Once Hospital is satisfied that Max's leg is as straight as possible, she wheels over an IV stand and hangs a water skin full of fluids from it. She starts feeling for a vein inside Max's elbow, but Furiosa reaches out to block her. "Can he drink it instead?"

Hospital frowns. She dislikes having her medical decisions questioned. "It’s faster through the blood."

"He doesn't like needles," Furiosa says, glancing at Max for confirmation. His face twitches with something that might be gratitude.

Hospital shrugs and wheels the IV stand away. "Fine, but if he passes out here, it's open season on his veins."

Max exhales slightly as Hospital steps outside the curtain. Furiosa puts her hand on his arm and his eyes fall shut. She watches him rest, listening to his breathing and the soft sounds of other patients talking in the space around them.

Hospital comes back a few minutes later with water for Max and supplies to set a cast. She makes Furiosa help hold the strips of cloth as she wraps his leg and coats it in plaster. "He needs to leave this on _at least_ four weeks if he wants it to heal right," she says, looking at Max and then at her. Furiosa has the distinct impression she's acting as surety for Max's treatment. "I don't want to hear any complaining about how it itches. That's the cost of having two good legs to walk on."

Max mumbles something in response and Furiosa has to lean in close to hear it. She huffs out a laugh. "He says he hasn't had _two_ good legs in years."

Hospital rinses off her hands in a bowl of clean water by the door. "Well, if he stays long enough maybe I'll see about fixing that too. There's a dormitory next door where you can stay with the other healing—" Max grimaces in response. "Or you can go to hell if you like," Hospital says, not missing a beat. “So long as you come back in a week for a check up. Sooner if the pain keeps you awake at night."

Hospital leaves without extracting a promise from Max to obey, but Furiosa supposes the instructions were more for her benefit than his own.

There are dozens of places Furiosa can put Max. Their Citadel is a vast space with private rooms, temporary suites, shared dormitories, and everything in between. There are enough spaces to suit any temperament, even one as prickly and unstable as Max's. Yet Furiosa doesn’t consider putting him anywhere except her own room.

She has plenty of space now; she might as well use it for a long-term guest. In any event, it’s doubtful Max will stick around to heal if she leaves him by himself, and no other roommate is likely to put up with him for long.

Furiosa enlists the stretcher-carriers who are still loitering in the waiting area to take Max up to her room. If they’re going to gossip, she might as well get some use out of them.

While they’re rushing Max up the stone steps to the top of the Citadel, Furiosa stops in the supply room to find a walking stick for Max to use. He’s sure to be on his feet as soon as he’s able, and she’d rather he have proper support than be limping around on his own. She chooses a repurposed drive shaft that feels right under her armpit. She and Max are close in height, so it should work for him. It’s also heavy enough to be a solid weapon.

By the time she gets upstairs, the emergency team has gone back to their post and left Max in her room. She pauses in the doorway when she sees where he is. They put him dead center on her bed, arranged on the pillows like a gift left for a warlord. She has a perfectly serviceable divan in the corner for when Toast or one of the others sleep over, but she supposes she should have expected this.

Max is dozing and startles as she shuts the door. He grunts in a way that somehow expresses his approval of her room. It’s not nearly as decadent as Joe’s palatial quarters, but it’s nice, a large airy space with a view of the fury road and the wastelands beyond.

“Need anything?” Furiosa asks. She unbuckles the straps that hold her arm in place and takes it off, hanging it on its hook by the door.

Max frowns in a constipated way that means he _does_ need something, but can’t form the words to ask. Furiosa waits, leaning the crutch against the bed next to him and then sitting down to strip off her boots.

“Hrm,” Max says. “Need to piss.”

Furiosa sighs. “Two options: either I find you a bottle or I help you over to the toilet.”

Max considers. “How far’s the toilet?”

Furiosa motions to the door on the other side of the room. “There. You can try using the crutch if you like.”

Max shifts to lean forward, pulling himself up several inches, and then immediately thinks better of it. He slides back down into the pillows. “Best find that bottle.”

Furiosa finds a drinking cup she brought up yesterday and forgot to return to the cantina. She gives it to him and waits while Max shifts around under the blankets, and then pisses for a solid minute. She has to empty out the cup and bring it back to him before he’s done. The water Hospital gave him must have run straight through him. She’s surprised his kidneys are working that efficiently.

“Better?” she asks.

Max nods. His eyes are closed, and he already seems to be half-asleep.

“I have work to do,” Furiosa says. “I’ll lock you in. If you need anything, try yelling and banging your crutch against the wall.”

Max makes an indistinct sound and Furiosa goes to close the curtains over the windows before she leaves. She comes back once an hour to check on him, but he’s solidly asleep now and stays that way for over ten hours.

___

Furiosa sleeps on the divan that night. She wakes repeatedly, probably from being in an unfamiliar spot, and eventually gives up and gets into bed next to Max. He’s awake anyway, his eyes opening as she sits down on the bed. He reaches out to touch her shoulder after she settles on top of the blankets, letting her know he doesn’t mind. She touches his hand once in response and then rolls over and closes her eyes.

She sleeps the rest of the night through.

In the morning she goes down to requisitions to get Max a new set of clothes. They haven’t yet managed to grow any cotton or flax plants yet, both finicky difficult crops in a dry climate, so all of their clothing is made up of old uniforms from Joe’s days or recycled rags. Dag thinks they’ll have better luck with hemp, but they’ve only just begun experimenting with it.

Furiosa finds Max a pair of pants that look like they once belonged to a War Boy, as well as a cotton tank top and a quilted long-sleeve shirt for nights when his leather jacket isn’t enough.

On her way back, she stops in the nearest communal bath to borrow a wash bucket and fill it with hot water. She has pipes in her room, but no heater. Her little sink only pulls in rainwater directly from the cisterns on the roof, and the water is nearly always lukewarm.

Max is still asleep when she returns. She pulls the blankets down off of him and begins cleaning him up before he’s properly awake. He winces as she cleans the cuts and scrapes that Hospital didn’t find yesterday, but otherwise submits to her washrag without complaint. The water Furiosa brought is soon dark with grime.

“You should go take a bath once you feel able to get up,” she says. “There’s one at the end of the corridor. It’s the door painted with aquacola spouts.”

Max coughs a little in response. She’s working on his feet now and frowning at all the calluses. She should see about getting him a properly fitted pair of boots while he’s here. The dirt is caked into his toes and the bottom of his feet, and it takes a lot of scrubbing to get it all out. The skin is pink and raw looking by the time she’s done, but Max seems to enjoy it based on his pleased grunting.

“How’s the pain today?” she asks as she works around the edges of his cast. He grimaces and tilts his head back and forth in a “so-so” gesture.

“I’ll make you some tea in a minute,” she promises. “I have some that will help.”

Max is able to roll over on his stomach when she prods him in the side, but it takes him a long time and a lot of grumbling. The sheets where he was lying are gritty with dirt and Furiosa sighs realizing she’ll have to go on another errand down to the laundry. She’s not the most patient nursemaid. She hopes he’ll feel stronger and be able to use the crutch sooner rather than later.

She washes his back, noting the scarring and scratch marks across his shoulders. He must have been clawing at his back, maybe at his tattoo? They’re older scars, nothing recent, and she remembers how uncomfortable it is when freshly-inked skin is healing. She also remembers the anger of seeing those black lines on her body; lines that she would never be able to remove except with the point of a knife. Thankfully, Max hadn’t tried to skin himself, although she’s seen prisoners driven to it before.

Max’s muscles relax as Furiosa runs her rag across his back. She takes her time, rubbing here and there to ease some of the knots that have formed in his shoulders. He sighs a lot to express his appreciation and nuzzles his head down into the pillows like a happy War Pup. After she’s worked her way across his body and all the way down to his feet again, she rinses out the rag and sets it on the small of his back. “I assume you can do the rest?” she asks, getting up.

Max mumbles something incoherent, waking from his daze, and reaches back for the rag to clean his privates. Once he’s finished, Furiosa takes the bucket back to the bath and heads down to the laundry room for fresh sheets. She should probably get a second set to put on the divan, but she only asks for one. The bed is more than big enough for two anyway and Max doesn’t seem to mind sharing with her.

Broken leg or not, he won't stay long. She might as well make the most of it while he's here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to unforgotten for reading the first draft and cheerleading.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out Max came back for a reason.

Max is still a restless sleeper. He startles awake the second night, his arms swinging wildly, but he doesn't strike Furiosa. Instead he rolls over on top of her and braces himself like he's shielding her from gunfire.

"Max," Furiosa hisses, smothered under his weight. She pushes at his chest with the nub of her arm until he shifts back slightly. His eyes are still searching the room in panic, his head snapping back and forth as he looks around them. "Max, it's okay. We're safe, it's fine."

He turns toward her finally and his eyes find her own, staying locked on her for a long moment. He nods eventually, his panic clearing as he remembers where he is. He takes a deep breath, all his fear contained in one shaking inhale, and rolls off of her onto his back.

Furiosa stretches and cracks her neck before turning over herself. She lays on her side and watches as he collects himself. His hair is damp with sweat and he's breathing like he just ran up the thousand steps of the Citadel. He rubs his hands over his face and blinks heavily like he's trying to clear away some nightmare vision.

"How's your head these days?" she asks, resting her cheek on her folded arms.

"Loud," Max says, and twitches. "Gets quieter here, but they're always waiting at night."

The night air is cold, and his sweat is pulling up goosebumps along his skin as it cools. Furiosa reaches out and runs her hand along the exposed line of his arm, rubbing it up and down to warm him. When his breathing begins to slow, she fishes around for the blanket at the end of the bed and drapes it over them both.

She could point out that Max's ghosts being quieter in the Citadel might be a good reason to stay here, but she doubts it would sway him. For whatever reason, he thinks he deserves to listen to them curse him eternally.

"Does it help if I talk?" she asks.

Max shrugs and then nods, pulling closer to her under the blankets. Furiosa touches his shoulder in the dark and tells him a story about a War Pup who wanted to collect an aloe plant from the unclaimed wild heights of the Citadel. He got up there all right, but once he was at the top of the rocks he was too afraid to climb back down.

Thankfully, someone noticed him shivering on the peak before the sun set. He might well have died of exposure otherwise in the night. Furiosa had to enlist a dozen War Boys to form a human chain and coax him back down from the heights. When they finally passed him down the line and into her arms, his hands were scraped bloody from holding the spiny aloe plant cupped in his palms. Somehow he managed to keep the plant whole throughout the ordeal. He gave it to her with a handful of dirt before being carried off to Hospital.

"It reminds me of a story I heard once, as a child," she says, wrapping up her tale. "About a boy who stole a wild dingo pup and hid it under his cloak. He was so determined not to be caught, he let the pup chew through his belly and fell down dead without admitting what he had done."

"Hope you didn't tell the War Boys about that one," Max mutters, his eyes closed.

Furiosa laughs softly. "No, I'm afraid they might take it as a moral lesson."

Max falls quiet after that, but Furiosa suspects he's pretending to sleep so he doesn't keep her up. She puts her hand on his chest to feel his breathing and waits until he starts to snore softly before drifting off herself.

___

Max is gone in the morning, which is annoying, but not unexpected. The crutch is gone as well, so he must have left under his own power.

Furiosa makes tea over her brazier and resolves not to go looking for him. He's not a toddler who needs to be followed everywhere to be sure he doesn't swallow something too large for his throat. Anyway, the story of Max's return will have spread to every corner of the Citadel by now. The people will know who he is and not to bother him unnecessarily.

After finishing her morning cup of tea, Furiosa collects a towel and a fresh set of clothes and heads down the hallway to the baths. She can already hear a chorus of female voices gossiping and laughing inside as she hangs her belongings from a spare hook.

After a quick rinse in the showers, she steps around the partition next to the sauna and is startled to find Max sitting on one of the benches surrounded by a dozen women. Max has a towel across his lap, but he's the only one making the slightest nod to modesty. He has his bad leg stretched out in front of him and a piece of plastic tarp wrapped around it, so at least he hasn't ruined his cast. Ginny of the Many Mothers is sitting next to him and gabbing happily as she scrubs her wrinkled back with a long-handled brush.

Max smiles when he sees Furiosa, and raises a hand like the picture of innocence. "Max," she hisses. "It's women's hours in the bath now."

Max blinks and looks around, seeming to realize for the first time that he's sitting in a room full of women. A rankous laugh starts as ducks his head in embarrassment. Ginny throws her head back to cackle. "Don't ruin it," she says, waving her hand like Furiosa is being ridiculous. "I've been enjoying the view!"

"Oh, it's all right," a voice says at the back of the room. Furiosa turns to see the Dag climbing out of the plunge bath with her long pale hair fanning out over her shoulders. "I saw him in the hallway and told him he could come with me."

Furiosa sighs and sits down on the bench next to Max. "It's a bad example," she says. "We have enough trouble keeping the War Boys in line without them hearing that it's okay to come in the baths during women's hours."

Ginny snorts loudly at this. "Like we'd let those smeggers in here!" She swings her long-handled brush like a club, brandishing it at invisible invaders. "Whack! Right over the head. They'd think twice after that."

The other women laugh and Furiosa looks up at the ceiling for a moment before shaking her head. Giving in, she goes to get a bucket of hot water and a cake of soap and returns to sit on the bench next to Max. He's flushed a darker shade of red than he was a minute ago, but otherwise seems to have decided that he's not going to leave if they're not going to kick him out.

Furiosa only stays long enough for a brisk scrub before going to attend to her duties. When she leaves, Ginny is trying to convince a skeptical Max that it's healthy to take a cold plunge after spending time in the sauna. Furiosa suspects she just wants to see him stand up and drop the towel, but Max can take care of himself.

It's inventory day, which means Furiosa has to go supervise the armory as the War Boys count out the bullets and check that the firearms are all in working order. The Citadel's only gunsmith was killed in the fighting after Joe died, so now they're dependent on the Bullet Farm for replacements. It makes Furiosa nervous, but there's not much she can do about it until they find someone who knows how to build and repair weapons.

It takes a better part of the day and to her frustration they find that a crate of new 7.62x39 rounds are all duds. They fired fine when they first received the shipment, which probably means the primer went bad. She'd suspect sabotage, but it's just as likely that the new leaders at the Bullet Farm have no idea what the hell they're doing. There's been some kind of internal struggle there recently, and shipments have been less reliable. Yet another thing outside of her control that she has to worry about.

Furiosa picks out two of her more level-headed War Boys and has them come with her to the shop to disassemble the rounds. A quiet War Pup who was watching the inventory tags along as they go into the workshop at the back of the armory. Furiosa lets him stay and sit quietly next to her as they work. He seems fascinated with all the different pieces and parts of weaponry, which is a good skill to encourage as he grows up.

Sledge holds one of the cartridges up to his eye and stares thoughtfully into the empty case. He licks his lips, running his tongue over the prominent scars from when he used to sew his mouth shut before battle. "Think we could refill ‘em ourselves, boss?"

Furiosa shrugs. It's a time-consuming process, but they do have the equipment for the more common rounds of ammunition. "The hard part's the primer. We can trade for saltpeter, but we don't have anyone who knows how to make caps."

"I bet Cheedo can find out!" Sledge suggests, and Lachie behind him nods. After Cheedo started arranging for the schooling of all the Pups and the War Boys who expressed an interest, they become convinced as a group that she was the smartest person in the world. There's nothing she doesn't know in their eyes, or can't find the answer to in the Vault-turned-Library.

"Maybe," Furiosa says, adjusting her hold on the bullet puller. She's been fiddling with the hydraulics in her arm lately and her grip feels slightly off. "It's a secret of the gunsmiths. They don't like sharing it or writing it down."

Lachie snorts and tosses his head to flick his hair out of his face. He hasn't cut it since the day Joe died and it's hanging down past his shoulders now. "We gotta get us a smith."

"I know," Furiosa says, popping off another bullet and emptying out the powder from the cartridge. She hands the case to the War Pup who adds it to the pile in his lap. "I've had the scouts watching for one, but the Bullet Farm keeps its smiths close and there aren't many out on the roads. No need to travel around when your services are in high demand in any settlement."

Sledge shakes his head. "You're gonna have to send out a search party. We'll never find one just waiting for a smith to turn up out of the desert."

Furiosa shrugs. She's been reluctant to send the War Boys out on a mission, too afraid they'll return to their raiding ways as soon as they're on the road. They still have little more than fifty able-bodied soldiers. She can't afford to have them killing themselves in pointless skirmishes. The War Boys are starting to get restless though, even with all the hard work in the Citadel to occupy them.

She's restless, if she's willing to admit it to herself. She wouldn't go back to serve under Immortan Joe for all the water in the world, but god knows she was never bored back then. In those days she felt a constant tension in her chest, a tightness that would loosen in quiet times, but never unclenched entirely.

She still has some of that tension, but now she tries to channel it outside of herself into the work of defending the Citadel. Some days she succeeds better than others. It helps her be more understanding when she's called down to the barracks to break up yet another fight among the War Boys, or catches them pulling crazy stunts like swinging from the cranes they use to transfer supplies between the main towers. They're good men, mostly, they're just bored and Furiosa can't blame them for that.

___

When Furiosa returns to her room that night, Max is sitting up and eating buckwheat biscuits. Someone must have brought them up to him, because she didn't have any food in the room earlier. There's a tray next to him with two bowls of cooling soup, a few pickled vegetables, and an apple for dessert. Max pushes the tray toward her as Furiosa sits down and unbuckles her arm, letting the straps slide off of her shoulder.

"Feeling better?" she asks, taking one of the bowls.

Max nods, shaking away a nervous twitch as he picks up his soup bowl.

"Good." They eat in silence. Furiosa quickly finishes the salty lentil soup. Max hands her a hunk of a biscuit to sop up the remains of the broth.

"You know, I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she says.

Max shrugs and tilts his head in his so-so gesture. Furiosa takes it to mean that he didn't expect to return either. He clears his throat, his voice a rough rumble at first as he starts to talk. "I've been hearing rumors about you." He coughs, getting clearer as he continues. "From people out in the wastes. Everyone wants to come to the Green Place headed by the Many Sisters."

Furiosa smiles. "We're doing all right. We get new pilgrims every day. New workers with new skills." She picks up a radish off the plate and takes a bite. "Someone told me once, a mother, that she met a strange man in the wastes who talked to himself. He told her how to get to a Citadel where water flowed like sand over the dunes. She thought he must be crazy, but with three children in tow she was desperate enough to follow his suggestion."

Max shrugs. He mutters something that might be "good samaritan."

She eats another radish. Max seems content to wait in silence while she chews and swallows. "Did you come back because of your leg?"

"No," Max picks up one of the other vegetables—a pickled pepper—and chews on it experimentally. "Got hit when I was on my way here." He tosses the last of the pepper in his mouth, chewing over his next words as well as the vegetable. "There's something coming—something bad."

"A war party?" Furiosa says, frowning.

Max nods. His face twitches and he pushes the tray aside as he leans forward toward her. He's full of nervous energy suddenly, rubbing his hands together and bobbing his head compulsively. He shifts like he wants to get to his feet, but then remembers that he can't. "A big one, an army, at least two hundred men."

Furiosa shrugs. "We've waited out large parties before. The longest siege was seven months. They all give up eventually." She's a bit surprised that this is what has him so worked up. Still, she's glad it brought him back to her even if his anxiety is overblown. Maybe he was looking for an excuse to come back. "The desert is all the defense we need."

"This is different." Max shakes his head deliberately and looks at her, meeting her eyes squarely as he moves closer and rests his weight on one hand. "These men have artillery."

She feels her eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

"Big guns," Max says, spreading his hands to illustrate. "Bigger than you've ever seen. Tall as two men. One's so heavy, they need a tank to haul it. And they have shells. I saw them use one to open up a bunker with three-foot walls of concrete." He holds up a single finger. "One shot. They cracked it like a walnut and shucked out all the meat. And that was one of the small guns."

Furiosa wipes her hand across her mouth, cleaning away the juice left from her meal. Even if this army doesn't succeed in conquering them, if their weapons are really as powerful as Max describes... She doubts they could tear down the Citadel itself, the rock is too huge and too old, but they might rip open the walls that protect them and leave the city exposed to attacks from all comers. Like an ants nest kicked over by a playful War Pup. "Where did they get such a thing?"

Max shrugs. "Army, ‘suppose. Their leader calls himself the General."

Furiosa laughs at that, a surprisingly hardy chuckle. Max looks confused and a little concerned, so she shakes her head and explains. "Some of the people have started calling me that—General Furiosa, defender of Mother's Peaks." She sighs. "It's not very funny."

Max picks up the apple and begins peeling it, exposing the raw, white flesh inside. Juice runs down his fingers as he turns the knife and strips off green skin in one long curling line. "I have an idea, a way to take out the artillery before they ever reach your borders. But it's a two-man job."

Furiosa frowns. "You're not in any shape to travel. Not for at least another four weeks"

Max shrugs one shoulder, still peeling. "There's no pressure for time. They're not on their way here. Yet. Once I can walk again, I'm going to head out and find them. I was hoping someone here would come with me."

The apple is bare now, stripped clean, and Max begins cutting it into slices. He piles the seeds neatly in the center of the metal tray. When he's done slicing it up, he holds one thin piece out to Furiosa on the end of the knife. She takes it, feeling his keen eyes on her face as she takes a bite. The flesh is crisp and wet, juice filling her mouth. 

"A preemptive strike." Furiosa remembers him walking away in the dark with a can of guzzoline under one arm. She was afraid for him then, but it was the fear of losing a valuable ally, not a friend. Now he's probably the closest companion she has, strange as that is when she's barely known him seven days all told.

"I'll need someone I can trust," Max says. "Someone smart who knows how to fight and how to lie."

Furiosa pushes away from him and stands up. "I have responsibilities," she says, going to the window. She's mad suddenly, angry that this is the real reason he came back. To lure her out on the road again when she has people that need her here.

"This is important, isn't it?" Max says, his voice growing stronger as he speaks to her back. "To protect them? Can't have a Citadel without walls."

Furiosa shakes her head. She feels cold suddenly and picks up one of the blankets off the bed to wrap around her shoulders. Max holds out another slice of apple and she takes it.

"When was a last time you went out on the road?" he asks.

"Not so long, forty days." She goes on supply runs to Gas Town now that there's an agreement in place. Safe runs where nothing unexpected happens and there's nothing to see but the same asphalt she's driven over a hundred times before. She hasn't been on the open road since the last time she saw Max. She sighs a little and takes another slice of apple. "I shouldn't."

Max makes a noncommittal noise. "Be nice, though. Won't it?"

Furiosa shakes her head. She reminds herself that she doesn't like traveling. Wandering aimlessly in the desert with no clear destination sounds like a lower circle of hell to her. Uncomfortable, boring, endless. What can be worse?

Still, with a goal in mind… to remove this threat, to protect her comrades, to defend the Citadel. It's all very straightforward. There won't need to be any meetings or debates. She and Max are of a mind; they hardly need to talk to form a plan. Once they get out there, there'll be an honest fight, one where she doesn't have to hold back. She spars sometimes with the former War Boys, but it's not the same as a real life-or-death fight. She needs targets that deserve her fury; ones she can destroy wholeheartedly without sparing a thought about the toll.

She wants to be calm; to be one of the reasoned leaders the people deserve. But she is not a natural diplomat like Capable, or sweet like Cheedo, or patient like the Dag. Toast is perhaps closest to Furiosa in temperament, but Toast has an easier time with the camaraderie of leadership. Even in the kinder world they've built, Furiosa is still isolated. Her soldiers love her and the people respect her, but they aren't friends with her. She has her four sisters, of course, but like all family, they don't always understand one another.

Max's company is both more and less demanding for Furiosa. There's an easy trust between them, a bond of blood and dust that still feels as strong as if it were forged yesterday. It feels easier to speak around Max, although she often has to carry both sides of the conversation. She finds herself revealing parts of her past and her personality she has never trusted to anyone before without even noticing she's doing it.

Max might be irresponsible with himself, but given a task to care for another person and he is unerring in his determination. That's why they work so well together. She can trust him to carry some of her burdens, and in exchange she can take responsibility for the self-care he consistently neglects.

She makes the mistake of picturing it then, imagining driving up the road with Max at her side and a full tank of guzzoline. She takes another slice of apple, using the motion to try and hide her shiver of anticipation. She does want to, god, but she can't. There's no way she can go with him.

At least not yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without really meaning to, this story developed a plot on me.


	3. Chapter 3

Max's cast comes off after three weeks, more as a result of Hospital bowing to the inevitable than medical necessity. The plaster gets replaced with a boot made of flexible aluminum and rubber from an old tire. It works well and lets Max put some weight on his foot, although he still needs the crutch to get around without his leg brace.

In the meantime, Furiosa's life shifts around Max, making room for him in the same way a basin of water makes room for a stone dropped within. He barely makes a ripple.

In the mornings now she brews two cups of tea, banging the kettle loudly in an effort to wake Max up. He sleeps soundly, sprawled on his back with his arms flung out to soak up the warmth she left behind. He would probably stay there all day dozing if she tolerated it. He likely needs the sleep, but she can't stand the sight of him lazing comfortably in her bed while she has her duties to attend to.

Sometimes he comes with her, following like a shadow at her side as she walks the Citadel. The War Boys approve of Max's presence, pleased she finally listened to their pleading and took a bodyguard. In the early days, she was constantly tripping over War Boys who fell at her feet to offer their loyalty and begged to be part of her personal guard.

She never wanted to be fawned over and worshipped, and she had no need of her own Imperators to shield her and keep her isolated. It took some time for that fact to sink in for the War Boys. Being cursed at and chased away rarely cooled their ardor, as Joe had trained them to respond to rejection with renewed fervor. The only solution she found was firm words— _get up, you serve me best by serving the Citadel and the people in it._

Her words sunk in eventually and now most of them try to please her by making themselves useful. Still, they have a strange terror of her personal safety. Perhaps it comes from seeing "Immortan's" body torn apart. They sense her mortality much more keenly than she ever has and the sight of Max watching her back seems to soothe them.

The pups adore Max as well, likely because he always has food squirreled away somewhere on his person. She's used to having several pups trailing her in hopes of being sent on an errand, but now they come out in the dozens to pull on Max's arms and search his pockets. You'd think they were starving, although Furiosa makes sure the youngest get served first now at meals. Somehow, Max always has enough morsels for all of them and more besides. He's always passing her a piece of cheese or a slice of dried fruit like she isn't capable of keeping herself fed.

This morning, the third morning after his cast came off, Max stands at her side as she greets the night patrols coming in out of the desert. They shake the sand out of their clothes and knock their boots against the sides of the gate as they trickle inside wearily. The night is the most critical time. A dam can burst, or a sickness spread, or an army come out of the wastes in one night. Lately, more often than not, the night is quiet and empty just as she prefers.

Max shadows her as she sends the patrols back to their beds and walks her rounds. She starts at the leeward tower, signaling from a bridge for the winch to lower its basket and carry them up to the heights.

The heights of the Citadel are Eden. Lush green foliage spills down the sides of the rocks, crops bursting their bounds and brushing against Furiosa's face as they walk through the narrow rows. Overhead, the windmills turn in the endless, dry breeze, sighing and creaking like the breath of a great giant.

Furiosa used to come here sometimes in Joe's days to climb the crowsnest at the highest point and look out over the shifting sands. It was a strange comfort then to see how _small_ the Citadel was, one shimmering point in a vast wasteland. No empire lasts forever. The peaks were tall now, but inevitably one day the sand would overtake them and wear the great rocks down into dust. Furiosa did not realize then that she was part of the creeping sand come to swallow Joe up into nothingness.

The thought is less of a comfort now.

On their way back down from the heights, Max reaches out to snap off a stem of immature grain. He chews on the end of the green stock with a thoughtful look, admiring the rolling terraces spread out below them. Once, such thievery would have been punished with a whipping or being thrown from the towers. Joe burned through wretched workers even faster than he burned through War Boys or Wives.

The people working the rows of crops raise their heads as Max and Furiosa pass and call greetings, no longer bowed down by fear and backbreaking work. The first thing Furiosa did was increase laborers and shifts in the heights, lightening the load for all of them and giving the people time to rest. They look like proper farmers now instead of slaves, well-muscled and healthy from eating the fruits of their labor. Many of them have babies on their backs, not War Pups-to-be, but the next generation of workers who will grow up safe in these same green fields. Or at least they will if Furiosa does her part.

They walk past the Dag on the way down, kneeling with her hands streaked with dirt as she digs up yams to inspect their progress. She's been experimenting with different varieties lately and she waves one triumphantly over her head as they pass.

Next Furiosa returns to the central tower and the water works where the pumpers are repairing the joints of one of the main pipes for the windward tower. She and Max spend an hour inspecting the damage and helping with the welding before she is satisfied that water will be restored by the end of the day.

She detours to the kitchens, both to get a bowl of porridge for breakfast and to check that their stores are in good condition for the coming week. The porridge is flavored with bits of dried fruit and a single honeycomb. Furiosa almost puts it back, honeycomb too precious of a commodity to waste, but Max snatches it out of her bowl when he sees her hesitation. He closes his eyes as he crunches on it, savoring it like the richest high-octane guzzoline.

The cooks used to spend most of their time preparing elaborate dishes to meet Joe's whims, but now they have the freedom to improve rations for the Citadel as a whole and add some variety to the previously meager offerings. The people would be happy simply with bigger rations, but delicious food is almost more than anyone can believe. Furiosa ate better as an Imperator, but the food from Joe's table never tasted as wholesome as her meals do now.

Unbidden, Furiosa remembers one such meal in the Vault. Joe spent most of his spare hours there. He seemed to be calmest with his wives in view and his sons and Imperators at his side.

Furiosa remembers watching as Joe presented his newest prize, Cheedo, who looked hardly old enough to shed her milk-name. He was showing her off as a sort of appetizer before they ate, pleased with her clear skin and strong limbs. He wouldn't breed her yet. Joe was smart enough to realize that young mothers produced sickly babies. She was future stock, held in anticipation of its maturity.

Cheedo lifted her head as she was pushed toward Furiosa, daring to look up at her. Her soft brown hair framed a delicate face, one strand brushing against a bruise around her mouth that had been inexpertly covered with white clay. Probably a mark left from her capture. Joe valued his wives too highly to hit them very often.

Furiosa nodded her head, already preparing to step away, but Cheedo reached out with one small hand to touch her metal arm.

Wonder bloomed on Cheedo's face as for a moment she forgot to be afraid. Furiosa turned her wrist so her hand was facing upward and Cheedo stroked her fingers over her palm, her delight showing as she felt the metal joints twist under her touch. None of the men around them took any notice. Furiosa was given certain liberties with Joe's wives due to her sex. There was nothing unusual in Furiosa speaking with one of them alone or touching them in friendship.

Cheedo raised her eyes, tearing herself away from the workings of her arm. "You're his Furiosa?"

She almost flinched at the possessive, but it was true. Furiosa belonged to Joe as much as Cheedo did now. She nodded and Cheedo ducked her head like a War Pup embarrassed by an older Boy's attentions. "Angharad told me about you."

Furiosa felt a trickle of sweat run down the back of her neck. She wondered how much Angharad had told her. She doubted Angharad would be foolish enough to tell this green young thing their plans, but the possibility was enough to make her skin crawl.

"Angharad is wise, she knows about many things," Furiosa said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"Not as much as Miss Giddy!" Cheedo said, her smile growing stronger.

"No, of course." Furiosa glanced to her side and saw that Joe was nearby but seemingly deeply engaged in telling a story to Rictus. Explaining anything to Rictus was a slow process, so at least he would be occupied for some time. Joe noticed Furiosa looking and nodded at her, his eyes crinkling with a wink. Furiosa snapped her eyes back to Cheedo, who was once more examining her arm.

Cheedo lifted her other hand, cradling Furiosa's elbow as she studied the hydraulics and the straps holding the whole contraption in place. "Does it hurt?"

For a moment, Furiosa didn't understand what Cheedo was asking. What didn't hurt? But then Cheedo ran her hand up to slip her fingers under the strap against her shoulder.

"Oh," Furiosa said. "No. It's heavy, but I've padded it so I don't get sores."

"Girl," Joe yelled, interrupting them and snapping his fingers at Cheedo from across the room. "Come here, my fragile one."

Cheedo dropped Furiosa's arm and turned to hurry to Joe's side without so much as a nod goodbye. Furiosa found herself rubbing the strap Cheedo had been holding and feeling the ghost of her fingers against her skin. She turned to leave, no longer able to stomach the rich smell of food on the table and the voices of the men crowing over Joe's prize.

Furiosa is so deep into her reverie that when she comes out of it, she's at a table she doesn't remember sitting at. Max is across from her scraping the bottom of his bowl. He glances up at her and then looks meaningfully down at her untouched bowl of porridge. It's still steaming, and Furiosa dips her head to breathe in the healthy earthy scent of boiled oats and honey.

"Mmh?" Max says hopefully.

"I'm going to eat it," Furiosa says, picking up her spoon. "Go back for seconds if you want more."

Max's eyes narrow like he suspects she's having him on and then widen as he realizes that she isn't. He shoves back from the bench and almost trips over his crutch on the way back to the row of cauldrons where the cooks are spooning out servings. He stands in line with a hunted look like he's waiting for someone to push him out of it, but he makes it up to the front and gets his second helping successfully. 

He's done with his second bowl before Furiosa manages to finish her first.

Once she's back on her rounds, Furiosa heads down to the chop shop to check in with the head mechanic. Parts are always a priority, and although the Citadel's stores are vast, they are not infinite. The soft parts are the most difficult to replace—the belts and hoses that keep an engine cooled are also the first parts to tear in a crash or crack under the hot sun. Their scavenge crews bring back wrecks to cannibalize for replacements, but now that the Citadel isn't sending out regular war parties, there are fewer ruined cars to choose from in their territory. At some point, she's going to have to push back against the gangs that have grown stronger around their borders during the Citadel's post-coup weakness. Soon, but not yet. It would be disastrous to start a road war that she can't win.

After speaking with the lead mechanics and examining a tow truck they're overhauling, Furiosa turns to Max. "I have something to show you," she says. "I was going to wait until you healed fully, but… well."

She's not used to being at a loss for words, so she turns away to cover her awkwardness. She walks to the back of the chop shop where there are a number of narrow garages carved into the back wall. She pushes aside one of the heavy black curtains and waves for Max to follow her. Inside is a car on an automotive lift which glimmers with a fresh coat of paint and chrome that hasn't yet been worn down by the endless wind and sand of the road. A V-8 Interceptor, maybe the last of its kind.

Max stops dead when he recognizes it. He looks at her and then raises one hand to point. "That's mine?"

Furiosa shrugs. "More or less. The War Boys hauled back the wreck and gutted it. The only thing that's left of the original is the frame. They had to replace everything else including the engine." Part of her has been waiting for this moment ever since Max reappeared. Partially in anticipation of seeing his obvious delight, and partially in fear of watching him drive away.

Max circles around slowly, sticking his head underneath the chassis and nodding to himself as he pats the Interceptor's sides. Furiosa turns the crank to lower the lift, bringing the car down so he can look under the bonnet and check out the interior. She asked the War Boys to be subtle with the design, which means they painted it a simple glossy black and limited themselves to only a few skull embellishments.

Max gets behind the wheel eventually and turns on the engine. He smiles as it purrs to life and glances up at Furiosa with raised eyebrows.

"What?"

He only nods his head, motioning for her to get inside.

She frowns but gets in on the passenger side when he doesn't explain. "What?"

He pats the dashboard. "Wanna go for a ride?"

Furiosa sighs. "I shouldn't. I told Capable I'd help her today. She's taking some of the Pups out for shooting practice."

"When's that?"

Furiosa shrugs. "After midday meal."

"S'not for two hours." Max gives her a sly look and guns the engine, making it rumble under their feet. "Come on."

She was going to stop by the armory, but she supposes she does have a bit of time. "I guess, but only for—"

Max shifts into gear before she can finish and drives underneath the black curtain, steering them into the main motorbay. The mechanics outside look up as Max screeches around a corner and a few War Boys yell their approval. Furiosa sticks her head out the window as they blow past.

"We'll be back in an hour!" she yells. She's not sure if anyone hears.

"Left," she snaps, pointing as Max barely makes the turn into the narrow exit tunnel. "The only ramp is around back now."

"I know," Max says, even though he has no way of knowing that. Not unless he's been planning ahead for his escape.

Max drives rather faster than she would like down the wooden ramp that spirals to the desert floor. He floors it as soon as they're on solid ground and races out the open gates, kicking up several meters of dust behind them. They hit one hundred kph easily by the time they're on the asphalt and keep gaining speed.

Max drives them straight up the road toward Gas Town, unknowingly echoing the same route Furiosa started the last time she drove the War Rig. He's grinning wider than she's ever seen before, looking slightly manic as he glances over to see if she's enjoying herself. She can't help smiling in response. It is a very nice car, and he drives it well.

Furiosa waits until they're halfway to Gas Town before she taps Max on the shoulder and spins her hand in the air to tell him to go back. He barely loses any speed as he twists the wheel and takes them off the road, spinning them around expertly to face the Citadel.

Instead of driving back on the asphalt, Max takes them in a wide circle out over the hard-packed earth. He takes his foot off the gas, downshifting to get better control as they follow one of the dirt tracks that twists around the Citadel.

Max continues to slow until they crest a small hillock around two kilometers away. He comes to a complete stop once they're at the top, but keeps the engine running. They idle for a minute there, looking up at the Citadel above them.

"Not bad," Furiosa says.

Max shrugs and stretches, spreading his arms wide and cracking his neck. "I'm rusty."

"That's all right," she says. "It's a nice machine."

Max nods and looks down at his hands on the wheel. "Be fun to go out. Together I mean."

She snorts. "Yes, you're very subtle. Time to go back."

Max smiles, but doesn't argue with her. He shifts back into first and drives them up the dirt track back to the Citadel's gates.

___

Max is up and swinging his fist at the intruder before he even registers that he's awake. The man is too far away for him to reach, staying back in the shadows by the door. Max tenses to spring at him, but a hand on his arm stops him. There's a flash as the bedside lamp is flares up, and Max turns to see Furiosa sitting up in bed next to him.

"It's fine," she says. "It's only one of the watchmen."

He lets out a breath and sits back as Furiosa pushes back the blankets and approaches the War Boy hovering nervously by the door. "What's wrong, Sledge?"

"Sorry to wake you, sir, but the windward barracks is getting rowdy," he says, rubbing the back of his head. "We're going to have to put them all in chains if you can't get them under control."

Furiosa sighs and picks up one of her boots from the floor. "All right, I'll come down. Go tell them I'm on my way and I'm not happy about it."

The War Boy nods and disappears back out the door. Furiosa sits down on the bed and grumbles to herself as she fumbles with the buckles of her boots. "Stupid fucks, see if I don't ban liquor this time. Then they'll be sorry. They'll have to lick lizards to have a good time."

Max finds his pants discarded on the floor and balances on one leg as he pulls them on.

"You don't have to come with me," Furiosa says, but Max ignores her.

She reaches for her arm hanging by the door and then changes her mind, leaving it behind as she heads briskly down the corridor. Max follows, hobbling along behind her. It's a good thing he's been practicing walking or else he'd never be able to keep up with her.

Furiosa goes up a flight of stairs and takes them down a cold tunnel that eventually opens into the night air. They're at one of the bridges that span the expanse between the rock towers of the Citadel. Max has never been on one before, and he's startled to realize how high up they are. The wooden planks creak under his weight, but the bridge holds steady until Max reaches the other side and follows Furiosa down into the windward tower.

After several winding turns, they come to a large space full of dozens of half-dressed War Boys. There's a knot of them in the middle of the room that appears to be fighting, or maybe trying to break up a fight. The room has a high vaulted roof and it echos with loud shouts as they argue amongst themselves. Max glances around, noting the bunks that line the back wall. The War Boys have decorated in their trademark garish style, including painting huge black-and-white murals of cars all over the walls.

The watchman who came for Furiosa is standing in the middle of the mess trying unsuccessfully to talk sense into the rest of the War Boys. When he spots Furiosa he puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles. No one pays any attention, still too caught up in yelling and pushing one another. The War Boys look oddly even more intimidating without their war paint on, the lack of decoration making their ritual scars and piercings stand out all the more.

Furiosa stomps over to a table on one side of the room and kicks over a mechanic's toolbox on top of it. The metal tools rain down loudly on the stone floor and the crowd of War Boys turns as one to look at Furiosa. She only has on a loose pair of sleep pants and a sleeveless top, but she seems all the more intimidating for her state of half-dress.

"Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on here?" she asks, her voice booming.

The only response is a long silence as the War Boys shuffle their feet and do their best to avoid making eye contact with her.

Max moves to stand behind Furiosa, not that she needs any added authority right now. She folds her arms as she waits, staring at them until the crowd parts and a single War Boy pushes forward.

"It's Olly that started it!" he yells.

This is evidently a controversial opinion as several other War Boys angrily dispute it and the whole group starts shouting again. Furiosa coughs loudly, stopping the argument dead. 

"Let him step forward and speak for himself," she says, making an annoyed gesture with the nub of her arm. There's some more shuffling and a War Boy in a long nightshirt comes forward next, pulling another behind him. The reluctant one has a bloody nose and sniffs under Furiosa's scrutiny.

"Well?" she asks.

The shamefaced War Boy who is apparently Olly wipes his hand under his nose and then runs it through his spiked hair. He sniffs again and stares down at his feet. His friend, who is still holding his wrist, takes it upon himself to explain.

"It ain't his fault, Imperator," he says, sneaking in a rapidfire mumble. "See, Olly's only tuffed ‘cause his cobber Axel rut with Shiner behind his back and he found ‘em tossing off under the lift, bold as you please. You can't hardly blame him getting blazed and wanting to biffo after that? Can you, sir?"

Max has no idea what he just said, but Furiosa seems to have gotten the gist of it. She sighs and rubs her fingers against her forehead like she's getting a headache. "I see. That's... not a very productive response."

Olly's friends in the crowd jump to his defense in response, shouting out various excuses like, "it wasn't his fault!" and "everyone knows Axel's a smeg!" Axel seems to have snuck out at some point prior to Furiosa's appearance, so he's not there to defend himself or his smeg ways.

Furiosa holds up her hand, waiting until the War Boys fall silent again. "Olly might have been upset, but you lot didn't need to encourage him. Or get so drunk a fight seemed like a good idea. Line up, all of you!"

She makes them stand on one leg and everyone who stumbles or falls over gets rounded up to go sleep off their drink in the medical bay. She marches Olly out of the barracks herself and takes him up to the cantina to sober up and get a cup of coffee. His sniffs turn into sobs as soon as they're seated at a table. "He broke my heart," he keeps repeating, slurring through the blood leaking out of his nose.

"Mhmm," Furiosa says, pushing a piece of bread toward him.

"They were doing it the whole time! The _whole time,_ " Olly says, looking at Max to confirm how awful this is. Max nods sympathetically and hands him a scrap of cloth to blow his nose.

"In that case, I don't think Axel was the best choice of partners," Furiosa says. "You're better off."

Olly only sniffles in response and repeats, "He broke my heart."

After a certain point, Olly sobers up enough to realize how badly he's fucked up. He starts crying in earnest and apologizing to Furiosa for waking her as they walk him down to a new dormitory to spend the night.

Furiosa deposits Olly in an empty bed and pats his shoulder while he blinks up at her blearily. "I won't make no more trouble, Imperator, sir. Never again, I swear. I won't waste any more time on Axel, that smeg."

Max helps get Olly's boots off as Furiosa turns to go. Before he leaves, Olly grabs Max's arm and whispers sincerely, "You're right lucky, mate. Imperator, she really cares, you know? If you were on her rig, you knew she had your back. She always took care of her boys, and now we're _all_ riding with her. Metaphorically, right?"

Olly loops his fingers through the collar of Max's shirt and pulls him closer, checking to see if he's following him. Max nods, letting Olly know he understands how metaphors work.

"Right," Olly says. "Right. Just so's you realize that before you go riding off, you know?" Max tucks a blanket over his shoulders and assures Olly that he does know before turning to follow Furiosa back to her room.

Furiosa mutters under her breath all the way back up the stairs. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to have them all snipped. If they're not fighting, they're fucking each other, and if they're not fucking, they're trying to kill themselves. All of them together don't have the sense and self-preservation of a gnat."

When they get back to her room, Max drops his crutch and collapses onto the bed. Furiosa sits next to him, but doesn't move to take off her boots. Max lies with his eyes closed for a moment before rolling over to see what's keeping her.

The light in the room is dim, the lamp turned down low so there's only a glimmer of flame. Max can see the silhouette of Furiosa's profile, but no more. "What's wrong?" he says.

She shakes her head in response, saying nothing, so he reaches out to tug on her shirt. "Come on. Sun's not up for another two hours at least."

"When can we leave?" she asks, apropos of nothing.

It takes Max a moment to understand what she means, but once he does, he smiles. "How's tomorrow?"

Furiosa tilts her head. "Day after tomorrow," she says. "I need to get some things in order. I have to make sure they don't set fire to anything while I'm gone."

Max nods and tugs on her arm again. This time, Furiosa turns down the lamp and climbs into bed next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to unforgotten/awfullythick <3


	4. Chapter 4

Max is gone the next morning when Furiosa wakes up, which is a first. She's still waiting for the kettle to boil when he returns and dumps a pile of grey fabric on the bed. He looks up and bobs his head like he's anticipating her approval.

"What's this?" she asks, lifting a corner of the fabric and finding it surprisingly light. It unfolds into a long cloak topped with a hood and a full face veil. The veil is too thin to do much good in a sandstorm, but it would probably block the worst of the sun's glare. It reminds Furiosa of the mouth masks the milking mothers used to wear.

She looks at Max in confusion. "This is part of your plan?"

He nods and motions towards the fabric. "A disguise."

She frowns. "They won't know what I _look_ like."

Max raises his eyebrows. "They know the Citadel is ruled by a woman with short hair and a metal hand."

He's right, loath though she is to admit it. She's always been noticeable. Before, she was Joe's only female Imperator. Now she's the leader of the coup that destroyed him and the figurehead of the new, softer regime that took his place. If she doesn't take steps to hide her identity, it's likely someone will make the connection.

She sighs and takes the cloak from him. The fabric feels light as she drapes it over her shoulders. With the veil raised, it covers her from the top of her head down to her ankles.

"A disguise," she says, frowning at him through the white frame over her face. She can see relatively well through the veil. The weave of the fabric is large enough to allow light in while obscuring her features, but it creates a hazy layer between herself and the world. A shield or a cage, depending on how you look at it.

___

They go down to the medical bay for Max's final check up and to gather the remaining pieces of their costume. Hospital pronounces Max's injury, "as good as it's likely to get," and returns his leg brace.

The chop shop did a good job repairing it. The twisted metal has been straightened out or replaced as needed, and the worn buckles and belts swapped out for fresh leather straps. The piston that acted as Max's artificial knee was broken beyond repair, so Hospital has a pile of potential replacements. They test out several until they find one strong enough to support Max's weight, but supple enough not to hamper his movement.

Once the repaired brace is strapped on comfortably and attached to his boot, Max walks slowly around the room, moving without a crutch for the first time in twenty-two days. He smiles at Furiosa and gives Hospital a thumbs up, clearly pleased to be able to run and fight unimpeded again.

Furiosa picks up a few things for herself as well. She searches through a pile of spare prosthetics in the supply room to find a less-memorable arm. She picks out a simple metal hand with realistic-looking fingers that can be bent to support the end of a rifle. Hidden underneath her cloak, it should be enough to fool anyone who doesn't look too closely into thinking she has two hands.

Furiosa takes a surgical cap as well, a tight fitting piece of white fabric that covers her head and neck and leaves only her face uncovered. With a balled up rag stuffed in the back, it looks like she has long hair tied back and tucked underneath.

She and Max have dinner in her room that night, eating as they look over a large map of the surrounding area and lay out their plans. They go to sleep early, in part so they're well-rested for the road and in part so the morning comes faster.

They wake before first light, preparing to leave just after the night patrols return with their morning reports. All is quiet, with no sign of an encroaching army. At least not yet.

Cheedo is waiting for them on the stone stairs that lead down to the motor pool. She leaps to her feet when she spots Furiosa and presses a long black cord into her hands. It's a braid, soft plaits of hair twisted together and tied at the end to keep it from coming apart.

"Oh, Cheedo," Furiosa says, reaching to cup the back of Cheedo's head and the short stump of a ponytail where her hair was shorn off.

"It's okay," Cheedo says, her eyes shining. "I've been wanting to cut it short. It feels so light!" She smiles shyly and her eyes drop to the ground. "Capable said she'd shave my head later if I liked."

There's a comb sewn into one end of the plait, and Furiosa tucks it under her cap. It hangs down over her shoulder, giving her the illusion of long braided hair.

Cheedo smiles and leans up to kiss the corner of Furiosa's mouth. "Come back soon," she whispers. Furiosa holds her in place, pressing their foreheads together. She closes her eyes and listens to Cheedo breathe for a moment, savoring the feeling of her warm smooth skin against her own before turning to go.

Toast and Sledge are waiting next to the Interceptor. "All set, boss," Sledge says. "Full tank and enough extra guzzoline to drive another three hundred kilometers."

"Hopefully that won't be necessary," Furiosa says. She puts her SKS rifle in the passenger seat while Max checks over their food and water supplies. "We should return in seven days at the latest."

"I'll send out a search party if you don't," Toast says.

"I'd rather you prepared for a siege," Furiosa says, frowning at her.

Toast shrugs. "Why not both?"

Furiosa sighs, but doesn't argue. It's Toast's call while she's away. "When everyone asks… tell them I'm touring the borders," she says. "Checking on the settlements that have started popping up."

Toast snorts. "I'll tell them you're on holiday." Her eyes shift to Max, who's seated in the driver's seat with the door open, one foot resting on the ground and one on the clutch. "They'll probably think you're holed up in a love nest somewhere."

Furiosa glares at her as she climbs in next to Max. "Take care of things," she says. "I expect it all to be in one piece when I get back."

"You got it, boss," Sledge says as Toast nods. Max shifts into gear and slams his foot down on the accelerator as soon as she's inside. The last thing Furiosa sees is Sledge giving her a lazy salute while Toast raises her hand in farewell.

They speed down the back ramp and onto the dirt track that leads to the gates in record time. Max revs the engine hard and has them in sixth gear by the time they hit the open road. They drive east, speeding down the fury road into the mouth of the rising sun.

Riding next to Max is both familiar and not. She remembers watching him drive the rig, grim-faced and dirty. Now he's light and clean, nearly smiling, and his face is freshly shaven. Furiosa feels good as well. There's something wonderful about tearing across the landscape knowing they're well-supplied and well-armed. It feels like they're invincible, like they can outrun or outshoot anything. Furiosa knows better than to get cocky, but it's hard not to give into the elation bubbling up in her chest.

She keeps her rifle across her lap, but none of the gangs that prowl the wasteland nearby come out to harass them. They drive along the borderlands, skirting the edges of the Bullet Farm and heading out beyond sight of the Citadel.

After several hours of comfortable silence, Furiosa glances sideways at Max. "You realize you're going to have to talk for this plan to work, right?"

Max grunts, not taking his eyes off the road. "I talk."

"Uh huh," she says

"I talk to all kinds of people that aren't you," he says. He holds up one finger and gives her a sideways look. "Talked to a War Boy this morning."

She raises her eyebrows. "What'd you say?"

"'Don't touch my car.'"

Furiosa looks out the passenger window and bites the inside of her lip so she doesn't laugh like he clearly wants her too. "Impressive."

___

They avoid settlements. The closer they are to the Citadel, the more likely they are to be recognized and have rumors start spreading about their trip. It's probably inevitable that some will leak out of the Citadel eventually, but Furiosa hopes they can move fast enough to outrun them.

They have more than enough water to last them fifteen days in the desert, but Max doesn't think it will take them that long to find their quarry. He wants to drive northeast up to Burned Rock Ridge where they can look out over the surrounding wastes and hopefully spot signs of the war party.

They spend the night in a gully that was once a river. Furiosa gets a fire started and Max prepares a pot of beans and turnips. Barely a word passes between them as they fall into the easy rhythm of living on the road together.

The Dag slipped Furiosa a handful of dried berries before they left, and she shares them with Max as they sit on top of the Interceptor staring up into the clear night sky. The Great White Road burns bright above them, pointing the way up into the clear night air and the stars above.

In the morning they drive further north and find tank treads etched deep into the sides of the road, the earth gouged by the heavy weight of a vast machine. The ditches left behind are nearly as long across as Furiosa is tall, and deeper than the tops of her knees.

"They're going north," Furiosa says, raising her hand to block the bright sun. "There's an old well nearby, around fifteen kilometers away, and a village beyond that."

Max hums in response, scratching his chin. He rolls out their map on the bonnet of the Interceptor and studies it while Furiosa leans next to him.

"They'll have to go around the ridge," she says, pointing to the jagged line that marks where the rocks rise sheer out of the desert floor. "The pass is too narrow and fragile to make it through with such heavy vehicles."

"Hm," Max taps the thin line that bisects the wall of rock ahead of them. "But we could."

"You want to go ahead of them?" she asks, and he nods. "They'll catch up to us in the morning when they come around the long way."

"Makes it look like an accident."

She nods. "Like we weren't looking for them. Okay, let's go then."

They camp on the other side of Burned Rock Ridge, waiting for the convoy to show itself. The well turns out to be a rotten wooden box covering a brackish pool of water underneath. Max takes a sip and then spits it out with a grimace.

Furiosa swears she can hear the low rumble of trucks in the distance several times, but the night passes without incident. They sleep sitting in the Interceptor, Max's hand resting on the gearstick.

In the morning, Max props open the bonnet and lays out a roll of tools on the ground. Furiosa relights the fire to make tea while they wait. She can hear Max muttering under his breath as he leans over the engine and pretends to fiddle with the gearbox. "Nice to meet you. Charmed. Funny meeting you here. _Nice_ to meet you. Who am I? Who are _you_?"

The water is just starting to boil when the distant crunch of gravel sends her darting back to the car for her rifle.

Max loads his sawn-off shotgun while Furiosa raises the hood of her cloak. Yesterday, she cut the lower part of the veil, trimming the fabric so it hangs low over her eyes but leaves the bottom half of her face bare. It feels less suffocating this way, but she'll still probably have to rip it off in a fight.

Three pursuit cars come around the bend first, light all-terrain vehicles that move to encircle them. Scouts must have spotted them earlier as the men inside express no surprise as they climb out and surround them.

There are ten of them. Most are carrying semi-automatic weapons and they're all dressed in khaki jackets and pants. Their uniforms look identical until they get closer, and then it becomes apparent that each man's outfit is slightly different, a patchwork of scavenged clothing that's been bleached and dyed to match.

Max watches the men warily and snaps his fingers at Furiosa until she goes around the car to crouch behind the open driver's door. It's not much cover, but if needed she can jump inside and drive off in an instant.

Once she and Max are covered, one of the soldiers puts his fingers in his mouth and lets out a loud whistle. A pickup truck comes around the bend in the road in response. There are three men sitting in the back who jump out and walk up to stand behind the soldiers.

One of them is older than all the others, with white hair and a slightly different cut to his uniform. He's more formally dressed, with lapels on his jacket and a dark necktie in a square knot. He also has a number of patches on his shoulders and several pins over his heart. Furiosa is reminded of Joe, although this man doesn't have nearly as many medals and ornamental flourishes as he did.

The grey-haired man studies them, his eyes skimming from the smouldering fire to Furiosa crouched beside the car before turning to linger on Max. "Having some engine trouble?" he asks. His accent sounds odd to Furiosa's ears, strangely overpronouced and affected.

"No," Max says.

"Oh?" The man clears his throat. "Stopping for the night then? On your way through?"

"Something like," Max says.

"Where did you come from, if you don't mind?" The man's his tone is mild, almost bland. It makes Furiosa's tense, unsure how to read this new threat. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" Max tilts his head incredulously and turns to look at Furiosa like he wants confirmation that the man really asked such a ridiculous question. She wishes he wouldn't take his eyes off the soldiers. "Who are _you_ , mate? I've driven through these hills a dozen times and never seen you lot before."

The man huffs softly. "I'm Major General Gerald F. Lawrence, and these are my men."

"Oh- _kay_ ," Max says, drawing the two syllables out and letting them hang in the air. "We'll be going now, if you don't mind."

"Mhmm," the General says. There's a long pause before he clears his throat. "Search them."

The soldiers have clearly been waiting for this order, and three of them move at Max as one. He raises his shotgun, but it's kicked out his hands before he can fire. A punch sends Max reeling into the dirt and Furiosa jumping to her feet. There are too many soldiers for her to fire without endangering Max, so she sets the sights of her rifle on the General.

She walks around the car, skirting the soldiers and trying to get closer to Max. She can hear the scuffle of feet in the dirt and the wet thump of fists making contact with flesh as he fights them.

One of the soldiers notices her coming closer and feints at her. She flinches, but holds her ground. "Hey! Hey!" Max shouts, his voice muffled like his face is being pressed into the dirt. "Don't touch the lady!"

Furiosa stays focused on the General, staring at him down the barrel of her rifle while Max struggles with the soldiers behind her. She's tempted to shoot him right now and ends this, but it's too soon. She has no idea if his war machine will keep turning without him.

So far, the General has seemed more interested in watching Max tussle with his men than in her. She snaps the bolt on her rifle to draw his attention. His eyes shift to meet her own. They're strangely colorless, a watery grey that seems to focus somewhere behind her.

She releases the safety and puts her finger on the trigger. "Let him go."

The General's eye twitches. He raises one hand and the second-in-command barks, "Hold."

The three soldiers trying to pin Max back off and move away from him. One of them looks like his nose is broken, which is almost enough to make Furiosa smile. She moves sideways until she's standing over Max as he struggles to his feet.

Two fresh soldiers start to approach Furiosa, moving in close with handguns drawn and trying to intimidate her into lowering her rifle. Max curses at them and steps in front of her, which is a very stupid thing to do since he's disarmed.

Max raises his hands defensively like he's going to punch the soldier's bullets out of the air. Furiosa snaps her safety back on, afraid of accidentally firing and hitting him if the soldiers charge them. A distant part of her wishes she'd thought to bring a bayonet.

Furiosa can see more soldiers in her peripheral vision, circling around behind to swarm her while Max is distracted with the men in front. She tenses for an attack, but to her surprise the General waves them off. "Enough. Let her keep it, if it makes him feel better."

Max nods at the General, a terse thank you as he holds out his arm and uses it to herd Furiosa behind him. They back several feet away from the car, leaving the soldiers free to search their belongings.

Three of them approach the Interceptor and open the doors. They throw packages of food and supplies out onto the ground and begin opening their packs. One of them slices open a burlap sack with a knife and dried beans pour out into the dirt.

Max shakes his head and spits blood. "Ah, come on!"

While they're ransacking the car, another soldier comes up behind Max with his gun drawn. Max's scarf was torn off at some point during the scuffle and his jacket is askew. Furiosa realizes a moment too late that the back of his neck is exposed. Before she can warn him, the soldier circles around behind Max and shouts, "They're from the Peaks! He has the death's head brand."

"Eh?" Max says, looking over his shoulder at the soldier as his hand comes up too late to cover the back of his neck.

The information seems to electrify the troops. Suddenly all of the soldiers are cocking their weapons. The soldier who spotted the brand kicks Max's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground again.

Furiosa swings around and tries to hit the soldier with the butt of her rifle. She misses, but manages to force him back a few steps. She turns quickly, whirling around to check for other threats, but the soldiers keep their distance. They're watching her warily and waiting for an opening.

The General moves in closer as well, pushing his way forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his men. He squints at them, studying Max where he's kneeling in the dirt.

"What? This?" Max asks, still acting confused as he points to the back of his neck. "Little souvenir." He reaches over his shoulder to grab a fistful of his shirt and pull it up, revealing the black words tattooed across his back. He twists so the General can see. "I spent a week in the skull hotel once. Food wasn't bad, but I can't say I recommend it with those prices."

"He's lying, he's a War Boy," says one of the men behind the General. This one is only slightly older than the other soldiers, his hair greying at his temples under his black beret. He was riding on the pickup truck with the General earlier, which suggests he's one of his lieutenants. Maybe second-in-command?

Max scoffs. "Do I look like a boy to you?" When no one answers he shrugs, dropping his shirt and spreading his hands wide in irritation. "What? For fuck's sake, she's got one too," he says, motioning toward Furiosa. "Check if you like."

Furiosa unlocks the safety on her rifle in response and glares at the men closest to her.

Max laughs. "I'm only joking, she'd kill you. Almost killed me a few times, right, honey?" He mimes holding a gun under his chin and pulls the trigger. "No bullets, lucky thing. Not that she thought so." He winks at her, still mugging for the soldiers' benefit. She's beginning to regret telling him to talk more.

The General steps forward, coming to within less than a meter of Max. Furiosa's fingers itch. She thinks she might be able to knock Max down and get past him to club the General over the head, but it's doubtful she can do it without them both being riddled with bullets first. She shifts her weight back onto her left leg, getting ready to spring.

But instead of signaling for their deaths, the General nods to himself and holds his hand out to Max. "Get up," he says.

Max tilts his head, looking uncertain, but takes his proffered hand. With the General's help, he pulls himself to his feet smoothly. He smiles at the soldiers surrounding them as they slowly lower their guns to the ground.

"Let's talk," the General says. He turns and waves for Max to follow. Furiosa turns sideways to slip through the soldiers after them, keeping as many of them in her sight as she can.

The General climbs onto the bed of the pickup, but Max hesitates.

"Uh," he says, glancing over his shoulder and pointing back at the Interceptor.

"They'll tow it," the General says. "She won't have a scratch."

Max frowns like he wants to argue and Furiosa has to nudge him in the side to get him moving again. Max shrugs and climbs on board the pickup, slightly awkward with his braced leg.

One of the soldiers offers Furiosa a hand, but she ignores him. Max kneels to take her upper arm as she gets on, pulling her up with one hand under her left elbow.

The second-in-command rides next to the General, his eyes suspicious as he watches Max and Furiosa across the bed of the pickup. The General seems unconcerned, and even offers Max's sawn-off shotgun to him, handle first. Max snatches it back and checks the cartridges inside before putting it back in his holster.

Max keeps his hand under Furiosa's arm as they ride, holding her close like he expects one of the soldiers to try to tear her away from him. She turns her head into his shoulder, playing her part while still keeping her rifle ready on her good arm.

They drive into the middle of an encampment of grey and green tents. It looks temporary, like it was pitched the night before and will be taken down shortly. There are a number of soldiers milling about and Furiosa can smell a cookfire somewhere nearby. There could be anywhere from thirty to sixty people living in the camp, depending on how many men are assigned to a tent.

The General climbs out of the pickup as soon it comes to a stop and marches toward a large yurt pitched at the center of the camp. There's a rectangular flap on one side that has been rolled up to make a door, and the General walks inside without looking back at them.

Max shrugs and helps Furiosa down before following him. The soldiers fan out, clearly still keeping an eye on the two of them as they form a perimeter around the yurt. Max ducks under the opening, pausing as he looks around the interior before motioning for Furiosa to follow him.

One of the soldiers stationed at the entrance puts out his arm, catching her before she can go inside. She hisses at him in response and snatches her arm out of his grasp.

Max snaps his fingers, pointing to her and looking at the General. "She stays with me," he says.

The General laughs, waving a hand carelessly. "There's no need for that. There's a women's tent next to the water truck."

"No," Max says, bristling. His pretend humor from earlier is gone, replaced with the snarling feral he was when Furiosa first met him.

Furiosa steps away before he can snap and ruin the tentative truce they've formed. "It's fine," she says. Max clearly wants to argue further, but she walks away before he can say anything more.

The soldiers let her keep her rifle, much to her surprise, and two of the men even turn their backs on her as she walks away. If she saw War Boys turning their backs on an unknown stranger in their midst, she'd slap them all upside the head and make them run a dozen laps through the Citadel. Yet these soldiers are apparently more interested in trying to eavesdrop on the General's conversation than they are in keeping an eye on Furiosa.

Max may have been right about the usefulness of this disguise.

Furiosa hasn't been underestimated in a long time. The day after she was sold to Joe, she stole a knife and sliced open the throat of the War Boy who was supposed to be watching her. She had never cut a man's throat before, and she used too much force out of fear that she couldn't do it. She nearly sawed the smeg's head off—the long blade only stopped by the gristle of his spine—and she cut two of her own fingers in the process. Joe found it deeply amusing.

He never underestimated her lethality again.

Furiosa walks through the camp slowly, taking the opportunity to study the tents and count the men standing around them. A few look at her curiously, but no one makes any move to talk to her or stop her.

She doesn't have to ask which tent is the women's tent. There's a red curtain hanging over the front flap for an entrance. Instead of going inside, she continues down the orderly rows toward the outskirts of the camp.

Jeeps and heavier armored vehicles are parked encircling it, forming a protective barrier. Furiosa doesn't see any artillery out in the open, but there are several large trucks that could be hiding heavy weaponry inside. The tank whose treads they spotted the other day is also nowhere to be seen.

She walks back toward the women's tent, which is positioned at the center of the camp, near the cookfire. The water truck parked next to it is a tanker with a number of hoses hanging loose. Furiosa refills her canteen and goes to sit by the fire and wait for Max to finish with the General.

___

After Max steps inside the yurt, one of the soldiers pulls on a rope next to the entrance, causing the tent flap to fall down and cover the opening. Max watches Furiosa disappear from view and then puts his hand on his shotgun as he turns to smile at the General. "If I hear her scream, or if that gun goes off, I'll shoot you in the fucking face, mate."

The General chuckles. "There's no need for that. Several of my men have women with them. You could say we're a very family-friendly organization."

"Uh huh," Max says, not feeling especially convinced by the General's fatherly demeanor.

There's a heavy persian rug laid out in the center of the dim space with a low table and several seat cushions laid on the ground. The General sits crosslegged at the table and motions for Max to sit across from him.

Max takes a seat after looking around warily. The sides of the tent are tied down tightly, but it should be easy enough to cut through the canvas if he need to escape. Three soldiers and the second-in-command have followed them into the yurt. Two of the soldiers stand at attention near the door while the second-and-command takes a seat at the table next to Max. The remaining soldier kneels next to a portable stove in the corner and fills a percolator with water from a plastic drum. He fussed with a metal tray as the General continues talking, steel chinking in the background.

"You've served before?" the General asks.

Max shakes his head. "I'm not really what you'd call a joiner."

The General narrows his eyes. "But you were a police officer, right? That car's a Pursuit Special and you know how to take orders when you need to. I can tell."

The soldier making the coffee brings over a tray with a sugar bowl and cups. He has terrible acne scars, deep pockmarks dotting his entire face. Max uses the interruption to consider his answer. "I've been on the road a long time."

"MFP, hm? Yes, that fits." The General leans back as the soldier returns with a kettle full of hot coffee, thankfully distracting him from his interrogation. "We don't have any cream at the moment, but there's sugar, if you like." The General takes the lid off the pewter sugar bowl to illustrate and adds several spoonfuls to his cup.

Max shakes his head and sniffs at the steaming liquid in front of him. It's not real coffee, of course, but it has a pleasant hickory smell. Max waits until both the General and his second-in-command have tasted theirs before taking a sip. He burns his tongue and curses softly before blowing on it.

"And what about her?" the second-in-command asks, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"What about her?" Max repeats, his voice rising dangerously loud in the small space.

"Who is she?"

Max puts down his cup and gives him an incredulous look. "Who the hell do you think she is, mate? She weren't a War Pup."

The General holds out a hand. "It's fine, I understand. We simply need to be thorough about these things. To get the facts straight."

"Be thorough about your own women," Max grumbles, looking down into his cup. "The facts are these: the old warlord died, she wanted out, I had a transportation. That simple enough for you?"

"Hm." The General nods, looking thoughtful. "Tell me about your time there, you said you spent a week in the Citadel?"

Max shrugs. "Not much to say. I was strung up in a cage upside down for most of it."

"But you were inside?" The General leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "What do you remember about the layout?"

"Eh, I don't know?" Max puts his hand to the back of his neck, feeling the edges of his brand. "I wasn't in the best of shape during this, you understand? Little woozy from the blood loss." He shifts on his cushion, feeling uncomfortable. "Look, thanks for the cuppa, but I should—"

"You miss it don't you," the General says. "Having a place to belong, the higher purpose."

"Uh…"

"You can't be serious," the second-in-command says, glaring across the table at the General. "He's road trash—"

"Martin," the General says, silencing him with a raised hand before turning back to Max. "I want to offer you a place here. With my unit."

Max looks between him and the second-in-command—Major Martin. "And what unit is that exactly…?"

"The 102nd Medium Battery, last division standing of the Royal Australian Artillery."

"Oh?" Max licks his lips and picks up his cup of coffee, taking a careful sip. "And what higher purpose do you serve these days?"

"Order," the General says, all earnest sincerity in his crisp military shirt and tie. "A stable, safe society under a fair law."

"Law written by you?" Max says.

"Military law," the Major says.

The General nods. "Yes, simple, straightforward, and applied equally to all. More law than these parts have seen in—what, thirty years?"

"That's…" Max puts the cup back down and shakes his head, grunting as he gets to his feet. "No, I do better on my own, thank you."

"Aren't you tired of running?" the General asks, speaking to Max's back. "Driving from one ruined road to the next, fleeing from gangs and tyrants? Don't you want a better world for yourself? For your wife?"

Max turns around at that. "She's not my wife," he says. "What makes you any better than any of the other warlords out here?"

The General smiles and rises to his feet, approaching Max with his coffee cup still clasped in his hands. "Stay and find out. I'm going to bring this land to heel and rebuild something worth living for. I need capable men to do it. Men like you, and your children."

Max clears his throat. The General's eyes are pale and watery, intense in his fervor of righteousness. Max has to look away, unable to maintain his gaze.

"For now," Max says, finally. "I'll stay for now. To see what you're about."

"Excellent," the General says. He shifts his cup into one hand and holds out the other for Max to shake. "Major, go and see if his car has been towed in."

The Major nods and puts his beret back on as he steps outside. The General claps his hand on Max's shoulder and pushes him to follow. Outside, Max is surprised to see soldiers on the move, men running back and forth carrying equipment like they're preparing for something.

"I assume you'll want your own tent," the General says. "I'll have requisitions sort you out when we return. For now, you're a digger. Private soldier, but there's lots of opportunity for promotion." The General laughs, chuckling at his own joke.

"Uh, is something happening?" Max asks, watching as several soldiers go running past carrying a machine gun between them.

"Indeed, it's your first mission," the General says, still smiling. "Think of it as a demonstration. To get a feel for what you've joined up for. Find your vehicle and join the column. We regroup twenty klicks north of here at the white cliffs."

A soldier runs up to ask the General something and he goes to greet him, walking away from Max like he's already forgotten him.

Max turns in a circle, looking wildly around and regretting all over again letting himself get separated from Furiosa. He tries to grab the arm of a passing soldier. "Hey, do you know where—" The man ignores him, racing off without even a glance in Max's direction.

"Hey," Max says, trying with another man. "Where are the women?"

The soldier laughs and barely looks up as he gathers a tarp from the ground. "Little eager, aren't you? Wait until we get back!"

"No—" But the man runs off before Max can clarify.

Max puts his hand on his shotgun and starts walking at random through the rows of tents. He's starting to feel twitchy. He spots the Interceptor parked in a line of cars waiting to be gassed up, but there's no way he's driving off without finding Furiosa first. He wonders if he's going to have to fire his gun into the air to get someone to pay attention to him.

Max is on the verge of pulling his shotgun out of its holster when he finally spots Furiosa standing next to a fire pit. She's watching the commotion, and doesn't notice Max at first until he whistles.

"What's happening?" she shouts, jogging toward him.

"They're moving out, some kind of maneuver. We're in." He nods behind him and leads her to where the Interceptor was towed.

A group of soldiers is climbing onto the open bed of a pickup nearby with Major Martin supervising. As Furiosa gets into the passenger seat of the Interceptor, Max hears him snort. "Your wingman?"

"I drive, she shoots," Max says and gets in. Inside, Furiosa looks up to glare from under her veil as she loads a stripper clip into her rifle. Max slams his door and shifts into gear, dirt flying up under the wheels as he peels away to join the convoy of trucks moving out.

Furiosa looks over her shoulder, watching the other vehicles as Max guns the engine and drives forward to take up position toward the front of the column. He merges behind a juiced up roadster with a V8 that must be nearly as fast as the Interceptor.

"You've got to come up something else to call me," Furiosa says. "You can't keep snapping and whistling at me like a dog."

Max grunts. "Sorry, next time I'll just yell ‘Imperator' across the campground."

Furiosa can't suppress a grin, shaking her head as she loads a handgun and puts it on the dashboard for him. "Is this new, or were you always like this and kept it all bottled up inside?"

"I was always like this," Max says, taking the gun and tucking it into his vest under his left armpit. "You told me to talk more!"

"And I take full responsibility for that," she says, still smiling.

"Eh, don't get too excited," Max says. "I've no idea what we're driving into."

"There's a village up ahead—or there used to be," Furiosa says. "Cavers. They keep to themselves mostly. Herd wild goats."

The convoy comes to a stop a few hundred meters away from a sheer wall of cliffs. They're made of soft, pale stone, stripped bare by years of wind and pocked with depressions and narrow crevices. As Max gets out of the Interceptor, he sees shadows moving in one of the dark spaces high up on the cliffs. Someone is up there, watching them.

"Snippers," Furiosa says, pointing to the top of the cliff where several tiny figures are perched. They're too far away to get a clear shot, waiting for the convoy to move closer.

The sun is high overhead now, unrelenting in the clear sky. Max feels a trickle of sweat run down his back as the pickup truck carrying the General drives forward. It slows to a stop only a few feet away from the Interceptor. A loudspeaker is attached to the roof of the cab, and a soldier hands a microphone on one end of a long curling cable to the General.

There's a squeal of feedback and then the General's flat cultured voice booms out, echoing off the cliffs in the distance. "You've had time to consider my offer," he says. "Ten men for every one of mine killed—thirty in total. Will you come down alive or will we have to take you by force?"

Silence reigns. Max glances back at Furiosa and she gives him a worried look, pressing her lips into a thin line.

Gunfire goes off in the distance, the snipers on the cliffs shooting harmlessly into the air. They're shouting something, probably profanity based on the fact that one of them bends over to moon the troops.

The General clears his throat, still talking into the loudspeaker. "Bring out the twenty-five pounder."

Soldiers spring into action, a dozen men rushing back to open one of the trucks and wrestle out a massive wheeled gun. The barrel must be eight-feet long, with a circumference bigger than a man's arm. It's welded to a two-wheeled frame and is so heavy that it takes four men to push it forward to the front of the convoy.

"High explosive round," the General says, watching with satisfaction as his men load the monstrosity.

Max can hear Furiosa moving behind him, her breathing growing ragged she watches the soldiers prepare to fire. The General raises his hand into the air, holding his fist aloft for several long, drawn-out seconds.

He drops his arm and one of the soldiers pulls a lever, releasing the shell with a loud boom and a puff of smoke.

The shell flies up in a high arc and hits the cliffs just below where the snipers are standing. A split second later, the rock explodes, dust and debris bursting outward with a plume of smoke that engulfs the tiny figures standing above.

Furiosa gasps as the smoke begins to clear and the extent of the damage is revealed. A massive crater has been carved out of the soft rock of the cliffs.

"Again," the General says, raising his fist back over his head. "Load!"

The men are well-trained, and it only takes them seconds to ready a second shell. The General drops his fist, and the cliffs explode again. He has them fire twice more before he's satisfied and signals for the convoy to move out.

They drive cautiously up to the base of the cliffs, but it's apparent even from a distance that little resistance remains. There's only sporadic and desultory gunfire as the soldiers swarm up the cliffs and into the gaping tunnels of the Cavers' formerly impenetrable home.

The soldiers toss bodies down the rocks as they clear out the caves and stack them in a pile in front of the trucks. The dead Cavers are a sad looking bunch. They're thin men in slate grey clothing the same color as the cliffside, many of the bodies bloody and mangled from the high explosive rounds.

Max walks closer and regrets it immediately. The corpse of a boy is lying on its side at the edge of the pile. He's wearing a grey fur hat and his eyes are still open, sightless green pupils staring up at Max.

Max uses his foot to push the hat down over the boy's dead eyes. He knows he'll see that face again in his nightmares.

Max goes back to the Interceptor and Furiosa, following a soldier who's carrying a slate chalkboard marked with the final tallies.

"Twenty-four dead," the soldier says, passing the slate to the General.

The General nods. "Then we'll need six recruits. Select able-bodied men, but volunteers only. We don't need any saboteurs in our midst."

"Quite a demonstration," Max calls, folding his arms as he leans against the side of the Interceptor. "Is this your law and order?"

The General nods, his face solemn. "It's taken over sixty days, but we've nearly cleaned the last of the marauders out of these hills. It's a simple deal: heed our authority and obey the law, or face the consequences."

"Marauders?" Max says, looking toward the pile of bodies. "These people?"

"Scavengers and robbers," the General says. "That's how they survive out here, preying on strangers who make the mistake of driving through the pass."

Max sees Furiosa shaking her head out of the corner of his eye. She comes to stand next to him, watching the General's back as he turns to address his soldiers. "This wasn't a gang," she says, her voice low. "They're _herders._ They must have sent their weak members and the children into hiding after the General gave them his ultimatum. Left only fighters to defend the village."

"Not much of a defense," Max says.

"How do you defend against that?" Furiosa asks, motioning to the twenty-five pounder hitched to a truck nearby. "The only options are to surrender or die."

"Hm," Max says. "Maybe."

The few remaining survivors from the caves are herded down the cliffside, dragged bloody and stumbling to stand in a line in front of the convoy. The General has his pick of the lot, many more than six ready to give themselves up and join his ranks in the face of overwhelming superiority.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to jadieladie for beta reading and awfullythick for cheerleading!


	5. Chapter 5

The General wastes no time once they return from the skirmish with the goat-herders. He musters up his remaining troops, who have finished packing up the camp in their absence. They begin forming a convoy to move out. 

Furiosa takes two of the empty canisters out of the Interceptor, yokes them through a pole, and runs to fill it from the water truck before it departs. No sense in missing the opportunity to get water while it's there for the taking. 

Most of the tents have been rolled away by now, leaving only a few smoldering fires and piles of scattered equipment. The remaining soldiers were moving through the disturbed dirt of the campground and taking care of last tasks before they departed.

Furiosa walks past a knot of them on her way back to the Interceptor, the pole heavy across her shoulders and the water sloshing in the two canisters. One of them whistles at her and the others laugh. She ignores them, walking past without looking until a familiar figure catches her attention out of the corner of her eye. 

Standing amid the khaki-clad men dressed in the same identical uniform is a War Boy. He has a thick turf of curly hair and his skin is nut brown instead of ghost white, but the cuts on his cheeks are unmistakable. He has two deep scars that go from the corners of his mouth up to his cheekbones. A series of lighter vertical lines runs down the length of the cuts—hashmarks designed to look like the bared teeth of a skull. 

"War Boy," Furiosa says, putting more force into the words than she meant to. 

The War Boy's head snaps up and he steps away from the soldiers with an amiable expression. The other men continue on without him, seemingly taking no notice. "Hiya, wife," he says, putting down his load of tools. "I heard you rode in with that swagman this morning." 

"What are you doing out here?" she asks, slinging her own load off her shoulders and nodding toward the camp behind her.

"Oh, making my way," he says. "I fell off my charger some seven hundred days ago way out in the wastes beyond mountains."

"You were in the battle then," she says, looking away. The other soldiers have returned to the camp, leaving them alone in the clearing. "When we escaped."

He nods and smiles. He has the easy nature many of the War Boys cultivate—a kind of cheerful resignation to the trials of fate. "I didn't know there was another wife running 'round! I thought you all went back to the Citadel."

Furiosa shakes her head and reaches up to adjust her hood, tugging on the edges pulled down over her face. "I was struck and knocked from the rig. They left me for dead." She hopes Anaghard is watching over her now, praying she helps her with this deception. 

"Ah, same as me then," the War Boy says, nodding happily. "Well, you should stick with us!" He leans in and drops his voice. "We're on our way to the Citadel!"

"Really?" she asks, startled at how quickly he's started spilling secrets. "What for?"

The War Boy shrugs. "Trade, I suppose. They got all kinds of food there now. I heard the kitchens are wide open. Anyone can walk right in and take what they like. And the aquacola is always pumping, pouring down out of the mountain. Water whenever you want it!"

"Hm," Furiosa says. "What about Joe?"

The War Boy gives her a confused look. "What about him? He's dead, ain't you heard? Furiosa's in charge now—long live." He makes the sign of the V8 and tilts his head back, looking upward like he's asking for a blessing. 

"...but she betrayed you," Furiosa says, unable to stop the incredulous tone of her voice. "You could have been killed! Dozens of your fellow War Boys were." 

The War Boy shrugs. "Eh, they died good deaths. It was quite a battle, let me tell you. I've never seen the like!" He spreads his hands, motioning like he's indicating an invisible war party stretched across the horizon. "Every vehicle you can imagine charging across the desert and they _still_ couldn't stop her! Shiniest thing I ever saw!"

Furiosa makes a noncommittal noise. She's heard similar gushing from other War Boys before. Their respect for a good fight still outweighs everything, including their own self-preservation. 

"Wait," he says, his eyes lighting up. "So you were in the war rig? You saw it all? I heard that one time Furiosa got stuck—in the _heart_ ," He pounds his chest to illustrate. "And she pulled the knife out and stabbed the Pole Cat that done it right through the eye!" 

Furiosa clears her throat. "I don't recall that." 

"Hm," he looks thoughtful. "I also heard that after the rig escaped the black mire, you all drove to a female kingdom hidden at the end of the wastes and the woman king _herself_ gave Furiosa a chrome rifle to lead the charge back." 

Furiosa stares at him as the War Boy leans closer, looking eager to hear of her adventures in the secret kingdom of women. "No," she says. "That did not happen." 

He looks disappointed for a moment and then nods philosophically. "That one seemed unlikely to me. I suspect it's metaphorical."

"Mh, most likely." 

"Well," he shrugs. "Still, I heard that now in the Citadel there are plants that grow inside all the tunnels and whenever you're hungry you just reach up and pluck one." He mimes reaching over his head and taking a bite of an invisible piece of fruit. 

Furiosa coughs. "I think that might be exaggerated." 

"Still, gonna be a great day when we return." He smiles broadly, his scars stretching into a grotesque grimace. "I can't wait."

Furiosa can't help but smile back. "What's your name, War Boy?" 

"McMillian!" he says, holding out his hand, an odd affectation for a War Boy. He must have picked up from the soldiers. 

She frowns, but clasps his hand. "McMillian?"

"Oh," he says, his eyes darting away in embarrassment. "Well, not really. That's what my Pa was called. General Lawrence don't like, ah, 'unorthodoxy' names."

She tilts her head. "What's your real name?" 

He laughs, still looking embarrassed. "Pissant." 

"Good to meet you, Pissant," she says. "I hope the Citadel is everything you're hoping for." 

"It will be!" he says, bending to pick up his roll of tools. "Just you wait—water running all day and green things to eat whenever you want! It's gonna be so shine!"

Furiosa shakes her head and hefts the yoke with the two canisters up from the ground. On her way back to the Interceptor, she passes the soldier who whistled at her earlier. He's kneeling in the dirt pouring sand over the coals in the campfire. 

"Does your swaggie fuck you hard?" he asks, throwing it out casually the same way some men like to play with their weapons.

Furiosa restrains herself from laughing. He'd have to be cruder than that to shock a woman who spent two decades surrounded by War Boys. "Not since I cut his dick off," she says, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she walks by. 

The soldier snorts. "If you're looking for someone with more meat between his legs, I'm in the tent with the green and white patches." He reaches down to grab himself to illustrate. 

"Mm, that's all right," she says, continuing past him. "He's got a big mouth." 

Max is standing next to the Interceptor looking edgy as the convoy departs. Nearly all of the vehicles are gone now, aside from a few stragglers including a 4x4 Land Rover cargo truck with a canvas top. Max takes the yoke from her and adds the canisters to the stack of supplies in the back seat. "Ready?" he asks. 

"Hold on." Furiosa can see faces inside the Land Rover looking out—soft shapes wearing bright scraps of fabric that seem out of place with everything else she's seen here. 

The truck's door opens as she comes closer, and a young woman hangs her head out, looking down at her with obvious curiosity. There's a second, smaller face below her, a tiny baby strapped to her chest who blinks sleepily at Furiosa. 

Furiosa nods at the woman and then looks back at Max. "I'll ride with them," she says. 

"Ah, I don't like it," Max says. Furiosa ignores him, setting her rifle down on the seat next to the young woman. She makes room, and Furiosa climbs up to sit next to her. There's an older woman at the driver's seat beside her, her tanned face etched with deep lines. 

"Wait!" Max pulls up the back of his shirt and produces a .45 caliber pistol. "At least take something short range."

Furiosa takes it from him and shuts the door. "I'll see you at the rendezvous." Max nods and takes a few hesitant steps back before turning to go.

The younger woman giggles as Max steps away. "He's real sweet on you," she says, exchanging a look with the older woman. 

Furiosa hums noncommittally and shifts to get more comfortable on the seat. She moves her prosthetic arm so it's resting in her lap and then tucks the pistol into her waistband. 

"I'm Lucy," the young woman says. "And that's Nel driving." 

Nel nods to Furiosa and starts the truck. Furiosa smiles at her. It's a relief to be back in the company of women. Furiosa's tired of keeping her guard up around rough, rude men, Max notwithstanding.

Furiosa pushes back the hood of her cloak, checking that the white fabric underneath is still in place over her scalp. Cheedo's braid falls out and flops onto her shoulder. Furiosa runs her fingers over it, feeling the soft plaits. As she glances backward, she notices that the rear of the truck is packed full of large metal footlockers. There's a mesh screen dividing the cab from the cargo area and a heavy padlock in place to keep it from being opened. 

"Are you hauling explosives or something back there?" Furiosa asks, letting a little of her nervous tension show in her voice. 

Nel laughs and nods. "You bet. Shells for the Fat Man, but don't worry, half of them are duds anyway."

"I still wouldn't want to be in here if _half_ went up," Furiosa says, wrapping her arms around herself. "How do you even make a casing that big? I've never seen anything like it."

"Don't make 'em," Nel says as she turns the wheel and they rumble slowly down the road to join up with the departing column of vehicles. "They're all left from Beforetimes."

"Ah," Furiosa nods. "From the old military? I guess that makes sense. Are you soldier's wives?"

"I am," Lucy says. "My husband's been with General Lawrence since almost the beginning, before he left the coast and came north." Lucy's baby has started to fuss, and she adjusts him in her arms, pulling down the front of her shirt so he can nurse.

Furiosa hears a familiar V8 engine and glances in the side mirror to see Max following only a few feet behind them. He raises one hand in greeting and she tries to wave him away in response, motioning to indicate that he doesn't need to stick to her side. Max ignores her, resting one arm out of his open window as he cruises slowly along. 

Nel laughs and honks her horn at him.

"He'll get bored and drive off soon enough," Furiosa says. 

"Not used to being apart?" Lucy asks.

"Other way around," Furiosa says. "Long separation." Nel seems to take that at face value, nodding her head, although Lucy looks confused.

"Me, I was an army brat," Nel says. "That's what they used to call camp followers," she adds, seemingly for Lucy's benefit. "My mom fought with the General in the Oil Wars and after she died, I figured I might as well sign up myself. Wasn't anywhere else to go by that point." 

"Are most of you military families then?" Furiosa says. "From before?"

"Oh, no," Lucy says. She puts her son up against her shoulder and pats his back to burp him. "Most are like me. I met Rusty when the Battery was camped near my home village and some of my brothers decided to join. Most of the soldiers now are men who joined up after the General left the old city and moved out along the roads."

"Hm." Furiosa nods. "He must be a great man to inspire such a following."

Nel snorts. "That, or the promise of one guaranteed meal a day." 

"Can't fault anyone for that," Furiosa says, thinking about the people who have streamed into the Citadel since Joe's death. She thinks about the arithmetic of it as well, what it must take to feed so many men on the move through the desert. They must be sucking the surrounding settlements dry. "I'm not sure we'll stay, but you seem well-supplied."

"We do all right," Nel says. 

"It's a good place," Lucy adds, tucking her son against her shoulder. "Safer than being on your own for sure."

Furiosa shrugs, not sure how it's better to raise a child in a constantly moving army instead of a village settlement, even with safety in numbers. 

They drive for most of the day, heading southwest and retracing the route Max and Furiosa drove to get there. If they continue at this rate for another half-day, they'll drive straight into Gas Town. Furiosa's beginning to suspect that's their objective, and her suspicions are heightened when the column finally meets up with the rest of the General's army. 

They're in the low-lying hills around thirty kilometers north of Gas Town when the column begins to slow. As they crest a ridge, Furiosa spots the rest of the General's war party nestled in a valley hidden between two hills. There must be over forty trucks lined up waiting for them. She can see lines in the dirt where the soldiers' tents were arranged, along with the remains of fires and latrine pits. The camp has been packed up already and the vehicles readied to join the convoy. 

At the back of the war party, moving slowly like a great beast of burden, is a tank. It's massive, with treads taller than a person, and on its back is the largest gun Furiosa has ever seen. Here, finally, is the monster that left the tracks she and Max spotted days ago by the side of the road.

Nel notices where Furiosa is looking and points at the tank with a smile. "That's our 'howl'-izer."

"You have more artillery?" Furiosa says. 

Nel laughs. "Only the two, Fat Man and Little Boy. But wait until you see the big one in action."

Furiosa shakes her head, silently wondering if this was what it felt like when animals like elephants and rhinos walked the earth. This knowledge of how tiny and helpless a human being really is in the face of unimaginable size and strength. It makes her think ridiculously of Rictus for a moment, although Rictus never gave her this sense of cunning malevolence. This is a machine that could grind everything she's built down to ruins in a matter of moments. 

There's an honk from behind them and Furiosa turns to see Max hanging out of the Interceptor beside them. He has his door open and is half standing up on the floorboards as he waves at her impatiently. 

"I'd better get back," Furiosa says. "Thanks for letting me ride with you."

Nel slows down to a stop as they reach the edges of the camp, and Furiosa gathers up her rifle and Max's pistol. 

"We'll be at the back of the line later," Lucy says. "If you want to join us before things cork off."

"Cork off?" Furiosa says. 

"There might be a skirmish up ahead," Nel explains. "Shouldn't be bad, but best keep that thing loaded." She nods down at Furiosa's rifle.

"Thanks," Furiosa says, and shuts the door. 

Furiosa holds out Max's pistol to him as she approaches. "We're in trouble," she says, her voice low.

"More than before?" Max asks, waving her hand away. She shrugs and tucks the pistol back under her cloak. 

"They're raiding Gas Town today," she says, glancing around. There's enough engine noise and general shouting as the two war parties meet that they can safely talk as long as they keep their voices low. "That truck is full of artillery shells for the big gun—the one on the tank—but there's no time to do anything about it. They're moving out now."

"Plan B," Max says, and gets out of the car. 

Furiosa follows him around to the boot and watches as he pulls out one of the smaller tanks of guzzoline and a roll of tools. "There's a Plan B?"

Max nods. "Need a distraction. Can you get those two women away from the Land Rover?"

"Sure, but what are you going to—?"

"Need to move fast," Max says, picking up a rag and closing the boot. "Before they leave." 

He walks away, disappearing into the milling soldiers, and Furiosa turns to hurry back to Nel and Lucy. Thankfully, they've only moved a few meters away and are idling next to several other trucks. 

"Hey," she yells, waving to get Lucy's attention. "Is there a latrine here?"

"Sure," Lucy says, hanging her head out the window. Her son gurgles from the sling around her chest. "It's to the east, same as the other campsite."

"Uh," Furiosa bites her lip, darting a look at the knot of soldiers standing in the direction Lucy pointed. "Is that the only one?"

"Yeah?" Lucy says. "Something wrong?"

Furiosa looks away and wavers on her feet like she's unsure about something.

"Do you want someone to come with you?" Nel asks, leaning around Lucy. 

"Do you mind?" Furiosa asks, looking back at her with wide eyes. "I just—one of them keeps bothering me." 

Nel frowns and nods at Lucy, who climbs down out of the cab. "Bah, it's these new blokes. Think every woman is public property. Point him out to Lucy and I'll give him a talking to later."

Lucy links her arm through Furiosa's own and they walk together across the campsite. Lucy has a small frame, nearly a head shorter than Furiosa, and dark hair that makes her think of Cheedo. Furiosa squeezes her arm tighter and wonders what Max is going to do.

As they walk, Furiosa examines the identically-dressed soldiers around them. Now that she's looking for it, she sees several that look like they belong to different gangs and settlements in the area. There are three Tri-Lizards loading up a Jeep, noticeable by the notches in their ears. There's also a group of aboriginal men that look like they might be part of the Wiradjuri enclave west of the mountains. The man with a crazyweed tattoo on his neck must be a Feral Lad, and she even spots several Rock Riders with rust-brown rags tied around their wrists. 

As they get closer to the latrines, Furiosa spots the man who catcalled her earlier. He's joking with a group of fellow soldiers, his jacket off and thrown over his shoulder. If he's a local, he doesn't have any markings that Furiosa recognizes. His hair is buzzed short like everyone else's, and his bare arms are unmarked. He notices Furiosa right away, glancing over with interest as she and Lucy walk past. Furiosa waits until they're only a few meters away and lifts her veil to wink at him. He smiles and pushes past his mates to follow. 

"That's him," Furiosa whispers, nodding her head so Lucy sees him coming up behind them. Lucy clenches her jaw and turns, pulling Furiosa with her by their linked arms.

"You got a problem?" she asks, calling to the man as she hefts her son higher in her arms. 

"No problem," the catcaller says, grinning like a War Boy with a captive at his mercy. "I only came to offer my services to your friend here. We made an agreement earlier." 

"Fuck off," Furiosa says. 

He laughs and makes a playful grab at her middle. "I was thinking I'd fuck yo—"

He doesn't get to finish as Furiosa drops Lucy's arm and punches him in the face. He's completely unprepared for the blow and stumbles backwards, nearly falling over into the dirt. Furiosa spits at his feet, goading him, and he reaches out to grab her. Instead of backing away, she steps forward into his arms, using his moment of surprise to stomp on his insole. She hears Lucy scream behind her as the man shouts in pain and tries to shove her to the ground. 

Furiosa trips as she pulls away from him and lands on her side, rolling to avoid one of his flailing feet. The cloak gets tangled around her arms and she shoves it out of the way in frustration. She can hear people running up behind her, and soon a mob of soldiers are surrounding them. They're all shouting at once and swarming the three of them. "What the hell, Georgie? What's going on?"

Furiosa gets up and feints at the catcaller like she still wants to fight, causing the soldiers to grab her and hold her back. More men are running over and somewhere behind her she hears Nel shouting out orders. "Make room! Make room! What's all this?"

"She's crazy!" the catcaller says, pointing at Furiosa and holding his other hand over his bruised face. "I was just making conversation and she hit me!"

"I'm sure you were the picture of innocence," Nel says, pushing through the crowd of soldiers toward him. 

Furiosa backs up, shuffling through the crowd and pushing away the hands holding her shoulders and her arms. "Let me go." 

She runs smack into someone's chest and is about to lash out until she realizes it's Max. He makes a frustrated noise and takes her arm. "I was gone for five minutes." 

The soldiers quickly back off as he drags her away from the mob. He's moving quickly and she has to jog to keep up as he pulls her back toward the Interceptor. 

"Time to go," Max says, hissing out of the side of his mouth. He rests his hand on the center of her back, urging her to move faster as they walk across the cleared campground. When they reach the Interceptor, he opens the driver's door and waves her inside to slide across the seat.

"What did you do?" she asks, glancing out the rear window. A number people are looking their way, but no one follows them. The group they left behind is still standing around the latrine pits arguing, but the rest of the convoy has starting to move out. Engines are roaring to life all around them.

"Let's get out first," Max says, starting the engine. 

Furiosa releases the safety on her rifle as they pull away, waiting for someone to try to stop them. No one does. They merge into the traffic of vehicles heading out of the camp and drive alongside them for several hundred meters. Max is nervously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and glancing into the mirrors compulsively.

"Any minute now," he says.

"What did you do?" she asks again, the tension starting to get to her. 

Max opens his mouth to answer, but before he can say anything there's an explosion from behind them. Black smoke billows up from the campsite—a car fire. The soldiers in the vehicles around them shout in alarm and honk their horns. Several cars turn around, racing back toward the source of the smoke.

Max coughs and accelerates, weaving through the cars and trucks around them, most of which have stopped to look back down the road. "I rigged up a fuse to the ignition switch of one of the Jeeps parked next to the ammunition truck."

There's another explosion as he speaks, louder than the first and sending burning debris upward into the sky. It's followed quickly by another, and yet another, as the shells inside the truck begin to set one another off.

"Oh." Furiosa feels a pang in her chest for Nel and Lucy. She hopes they hadn't returned to the Land Rover yet. 

Max swerves around a parked truck and drives narrowly past the tank with the massive artillery gun on its back. Furiosa watches it disappear in the rearview mirror as they race around a bend. 

Max takes them up a narrow switchback road that climbs a nearby hill. Max has to brake hard to make the one-hundred eighty degree turn. If they can get all the way to the top, they might be able to drive down other side and straight across the plains to Gas Town. 

"They'll have other shells," Furiosa says, feeling the need to point out the obvious. The original plan was for them to sabotage the artillery guns themselves, but all they've managed to do is decrease their ammunition. 

Max shrugs. "Best we could manage under the circumstances." 

"At least Gas Town will know they're coming now." The sky is black with smoke behind them, a massive signal fire showing the location of the convoy. Furiosa can still hear explosions in the distance as the shells spend themselves. If they're lucky, they'll have taken out at least a third of the motor pool. 

Max nods and grunts. They swerve up another hairpin curve, heading further into the cover of the nearby hillside. 

"Hey, here's a question," Max says. "Where do you think they're getting their ammunition from?" 

Furiosa shrugs, slightly concerned that he's bringing up hypotheticals instead of focusing on the twisting road. "Arms depot? The General would know where all the old armories are." 

Max grunts noncommittally and reaches down to dig through his pocket. Furiosa nearly takes the wheel from him as he swerves one-handed around a corner. Finally, after several seconds of digging, he pulls out a spent .45 casing and holds it out to her. 

"What?" She snatches it out of his grasp so he'll focus on the road again.

"Picked it up off the ground," Max explains. "Back before we pulled away from the last campground."

She turns it around in her fingers with a frown, comprehension dawning as she feels the weight of the familiar brass. She snarls when she sees the skull stamped on the bottom edge and hisses in anger. "Bullet farm, those _motherless schlangers_ —" She closes her fingers around the shell, squeezing it tightly in her fist so the edges cut into her palm. "I should have shred them all after I killed Joe."

Max raises his eyebrows and gives her a sideways glance. "They might not have had much of a choice."

"They could have warned me if they wanted to," Furiosa says, still practically spitting in anger. "This is exactly what they wanted, someone bigger come to get the mothers off their backs. Cowardly—ugh." She punches the dashboard, slamming her fist against the hardened plastic.

"Don't do that," Max says, touching the dash like he's afraid she'll dent it. "Save it." 

She shakes her head, but drops the shell to the ground and inhales deeply, trying to calm down. 

"Let's worry about the army first," Max says. "You can deal with the Bullet Farm later." 

"I will," Furiosa grits out. She loads a stripper clip into her rifle to give her something to do, jamming the bullets down inside with an angry press of her thumb.

They're at the top of the hill by now, taking one last hairpin curve. Max stops at the highest point where they can see the campsite stretched out behind them and Gas Town laid out ahead. 

Furiosa pulls out a pair of binoculars, studying the damage among the troops below. To their credit, the General's men haven't scattered. Most of the uninjured have stayed near the convoy and are working to put out the raging flames. Furiosa counts a dozen vehicles on fire, at least a quarter of the combined convoy. A number of the vehicles closest to the explosions look like they have impact damage. It's hard to tell how many casualties from here, but there are a number of bodies lying amid the wreckage. She scans the soldiers running back and forth, but doesn't spot Nel or Lucy.

She does however, see the tank, unscathed and being moved safely away from the chaos. She frowns down at it, wondering how many shells they have left. 

Max taps her on the shoulder and motions for her to come around to the other side of the car. "Gas Town Boys are on the move," he says, pointing toward the distant city of oil wells. 

A cloud of sand is rising up from the road in front of Gas Town, the telltale sign of vehicles on the move. At the heart of the small sandstorm is a group of black dots, shimmering in the heat haze coming up from the ground. The cars are too far away for Furiosa to make out any specifics, but the cloud is large. She breathes a sigh of relief and passes the binoculars to Max. 

Her relief is short lived, as the sounds drifting up from the camp below them begin to change. The turmoil is beginning to die down, being replaced by shouted orders and more deliberate, calmer movements. There's a loud sound of engines from nearby, motorbikes on the hills. A group of riders comes in through a narrow pass below, driving between the hills and into the camp.

"Scouts," Max says, and Furiosa nods. 

She watches nervously as the line of riders weaves through the vehicles below like they're looking for something. They come to a stop in front of a tanker truck where the General and his lieutenants are calling orders through a loudspeaker. 

The motorbike riders shout up at their officers and point behind them toward Gas Town. The General motions with his arm, shouting new orders that echo across the camp. The mood below shifts almost immediately, changing from an emergency response to battle preparations. 

Furiosa's stomach drops when she sees the tank with Fat Man driving forward to get into position. The motorbike riders drive back up into the hills, likely to serve as spotters to direct the artillery fire. 

Furiosa turns back around, checking the progress of the war party from Gas Town. They're close enough now that she can make out the individual vehicles. Her stomach sinks as she watches them approach. A long line of charging cars makes sense when the objective is to overwhelm an enemy that's also on vehicles, but it's suicidal with long-distance artillery in play. The Gas Town Boys are driving in a massive moving wedge, spread out across the flat plains like targets at a firing range.

"If they have exploding rounds…" Max says. Furiosa doesn't hear the rest, already running behind the Interceptor to dig through the gear in the back. 

"Do we still have that flare gun?" she asks. 

"Um, the canvas bag," Max says, not sounding very pleased by the question. She finds the bag and dumps the contents out on the ground, searching for the cartridges she needs. "Furiosa, we're out here alone. Are you sure they'll even listen to you?" 

"They will if they know what's good for them," Furiosa says, holding the gun over her head and firing off two white rounds—disperse and flank. She follows it with a green flare, her own personal signal. 

There are shouts from below as soldiers notice the brightly colored powder hanging in the air. Furiosa runs back to look down at the Gas Town Boys, watching through her binoculars to see what they'll do. They're still in formation, probably taking a moment to register her order and shout it to their own Imperators. Will they listen to her? They'd be idiotic not to, but Gas Town is only nominally subordinate to the Citadel. They have no reason to respect her authority beyond the bounds of their own self-interest and need for trade. 

"Furiosa," Max says. "We have to go." 

"Hold on," she says, still scanning the war party below. "Come on, break," she mutters to herself. " _Break_." 

"Furiosa," Max says, starting to sound desperate. He comes up to her and takes the binoculars out of her hands. "We have to leave, _now._ "

Furiosa starts to argue with him, but then she hears what's making him so agitated—engines, somewhere nearby and getting closer. They must be driving up the switchback road behind them. Max tugs on her arm and Furiosa starts to return to the car, walking backwards and keeping her eyes on the Gas Town Boys on the plains below. 

At the last moment, as Max is swearing at her and running around to the driver's side door, she sees the lead Gas Town car swerve and break formation. The wedge begins to divide, the cars separating into small groups that scatter to the east and west. 

"Yes!" Furiosa says, finally turning to join Max in the Interceptor.

"Time to go," Max yells and starts the engine. Furiosa climbs into the open window at the back and is barely seated before he's pulling away. She hangs onto the door handle as they tear down the hairpin curve on the other side of the hill, heading away from the camp and toward the plains. 

As they drive rapidly down the slope, Furiosa turns back to see five motorcycles flying over the rise behind them, only a few meters away.

Max is muttering under his breath, grumbling about losing their headstart and how they should be down the hill already. "I've got it," Furiosa says, starting to pull herself out of the window to get a clear shot. "Focus on driving."

"You focus on shooting!" Max snaps, gunning the engine down the straightaway and then swerving as they take the next hairpin curve. At this rate, he's just as likely to send them flying over the edge of the hill as he is to beat the General's forces to the bottom. 

One of the motorcycles behind them overcompensates and does just that, losing control and wiping out over the edge of the cliff. Furiosa fires off a round at the remaining four, but they're moving too erratically for her to get a good shot. She nearly loses her balance as Max takes the next curve and has to climb back inside. At this rate, she's doubtful they're going to make it to the bottom without rolling down the hill themselves.

"Ah, fuck," Max says, looking in the rearview mirror as four Jeeps tear around the bend and join the motorcycles. 

Furiosa realizes that they might actually be in trouble. No one can catch the Interceptor on a straightaway, but the Jeeps are much better suited to this kind of rough, mountainous driving. 

If they can't beat them to the bottom, they may well be out of luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to jadieladie and awfullythick for beta reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Max and Furiosa blew up some shit, signaled Gas Town, and got in a car chase down the side of a mountain.

The motorcycles chasing them back off after one of their fellows misjudges the curve and tumbles off the edge of the road. They stay one loop behind the Interceptor, appearing around the bend of the road just before Max takes each hairpin turn. 

“They’ll try to cut us off at the bottom,” Furiosa says, reloading her rifle. The Jeeps that were pursuing them earlier appear to have vanished, which might mean they've fallen further back—not as fast and maneuverable as the motorcycles—but more likely it mean they're taking a different route out of the hills. 

“I know, I know” Max grumbles. He brakes for the next turn and she feels the right wheels lift slightly as they barrel around the curve, just on the edge of losing control. The wheels hit the road with a heavy crunch and they peel down the straightaway toward the next turn. Furiosa is struck by what a good driver Max is. She doubts even her best War Boys could have navigated the dangerous mountain road faster. 

The slope grows less steep as they merge onto the narrow road that leads through the landscape of rough foothills and crumbling boulders toward the plains below. Furiosa hears engines from their back left and turns to see three of the motorcyclists racing toward them offroad. 

Cars they could outrun, but not these fast dirt bikes, perfectly suited to the rough ground. Max is forced to stick to the cleared dirt path to avoid crashing the Interceptor, but the bikes can weave easily through the rocky terrain. 

Furiosa shoots out the window and manages to clip one of the motorcycle riders. He gets knocked backwards off his bike and the other two slow down in response. They keep further back after that, following at a safer distance as Max picks up speed.

"Something's wrong, they're waiting for something," Furiosa says, narrowing her eyes as she watches the increasingly-distant motorcycles through the sights of her rifle. 

Max looks up, glancing in the rearview mirror and seeming to make a snap decision. He stomps down hard on the brakes, making the Interceptor weave and the tires squeal. He twists the wheel as they start to spin and struggles to keep control of the car. 

They swerve to the far side of the road, but not far enough. The Interceptor hits something buried in the dirt underneath, the left wheels clunking over metal, and the back of the car explodes in flame. 

Furiosa manages to throw herself out the side window as the Interceptor flips, landing hard on the sand and rolling. Her left hip and shoulder take the brunt of the hit, pain lacing up her side as she scrapes over the ground. Her ears are roaring from the explosion, temporarily deafened. A wave of heat hits her as one of the gas tanks catches fire. 

She gets to her feet as soon as she's able and finds her rifle where it tumbled to the ground. The Interceptor is on its back, belly up like a dead animal. The boot end is on fire, and it’s probably only a matter of time until something explodes. 

“Max?” Furiosa yells, running toward the crash when he doesn’t answer. She goes around to the driver’s side and sees Max trapped inside with his head near the open window. He’s struggling with something, reaching down and tearing at his pant leg. Furiosa pulls her knife out of her boot and passes it to him before she registers what’s wrong—his leg brace must be caught on something. 

She starts to reach in to help him, but is stopped by a bullet hitting the dirt just to the left of Max’s head. He startles and ducks back inside for cover while Furiosa spins on her heel. 

The two motorcyclists are barreling toward them, firing wildly as they approach. Furiosa drops down and raises her rifle. She shoots one in the shoulder over the top of his handlebars. He tumbles from his bike and sends up a cloud of dust, startling the other rider. Furiosa picks him off as he turns to look back at his fallen comrade. 

Max finally manages to cut the offending strap trapping him in the car and he drags himself out onto the dirt. The smoke is starting to get painfully thick, making them both cough as Furiosa pulls Max to his feet. She tries to get an arm under his shoulder but he shakes her off. “I can walk.”

He’s limping slightly, having cut the strap under his knee that holds the brace in place against his shin. He still has some support, but his movements are awkward and pained as they run toward the two downed motorcycles. 

In the distance, Furiosa can see a cloud of dust rising up in the direction they came from. More of the General’s forces are on the move, either coming after them or riding out to meet the Gas Town Boys. 

The Interceptor explodes by the time they reach the two motorcycles. Max grabs her arm and pulls her down into a crouch as debris fall around them. She swears she hears him mutter “not again” as he looks back over his shoulder at the smoldering wreck. 

Once the wreckage has stopped raining down from the sky, Furiosa runs over to the closest motorcycle and rights it after checking that the rider is dead. Headshot. The Many Mothers would be proud. 

The rider Furiosa hit in the shoulder is still moaning. Max disarms him while she’s examining the first motorcycle. It’s a powerful dirt bike, good for riding through the wastes, but the spokes on the front wheel were twisted by the crash, making it all but worthless. She throws it down and runs over to Max, who’s examining the second bike. 

This is a larger Suzuki motorcycle with a pillion cushion. Max gets it started and Furiosa climbs on behind him. He passes her knife back to her over his shoulder. 

“Wait,” she says, pulling her cloak off over her head. She uses the knife to cut a strip of grey fabric and leans down to thread it through the brackets of his brace, replacing the leather strap he was forced to cut. The fabric isn’t strong enough to be a permanent replacement, but it should do for now. 

She sits up and pats his shoulder once she’s done, and he gives her a thumbs up as he starts the engine. The vehicles coming up behind them are getting closer, and Furiosa can make out the outline of the lead Jeep as Max pulls away. 

He drives them off road and into the wastes. The land is emptier here, with less crumbling rock as they get farther away from the foothills. There’s no good cover anywhere. Their only hope is to outrun their pursuers. 

They make it nearly a half kilometer before the engine starts sputtering. Max grunts angrily and tries to shift gears, but only succeeds in stalling. Furiosa hops off as Max pounds on the ignition switch trying to get it started again.

“You’re going to flood it,” she says. 

Max makes a frustrated noise but stops, sitting back on the seat. “Kill switch or broken?” 

Furiosa shrugs and kneels down to look at the engine. “Could be the battery.”

She pokes at various wires while Max grunts in frustration and looks over his shoulder. The vehicles are much closer now, ripping over the terrain and coming straight for them. 

"Try it in second gear," she suggests. 

The engine starts this time, but it sounds rough. Furiosa hops back on and they ride for several minutes before it sputters out entirely. The nearest Jeep is now only a few hundred meters behind them. They’ll be within firing range soon. 

“Time to run,” Max says, jumping off. They take off together, searching for any kind of cover. They're too far out of the hills now. There’s nothing but flat earth and the occasional low bit of scrub brush. 

Max makes for a small pile of rocks, not actually enough to hide behind, but Furiosa supposes it’s better than nothing. He throws himself down in the dirt once they reach it and Furiosa kneels next to him. They take a moment to catch their breath and ready their weapons as the vehicles chasing them get closer. Furiosa has a half dozen bullets left in her SKS rifle and the pistol is still fully loaded. Max has his sawn-off shotgun with him, and he takes two shells out of his pockets and lines them up in front of him in the dirt. 

The Jeeps come to a stop just out of range of Furiosa’s rifle and form a line. Furiosa hopes that means they’ve been ordered to capture them and not simply run them down. A single figure gets out, climbing up the bonnet of one of the Jeeps and holding a bullhorn to his mouth.

“You’re from the Citadel, I presume?” the man calls out. 

“It’s the Major,” Max says, his voice low. “Second-in-command.” 

Furiosa nods and takes aim at him. She _might_ be able to get a shot off at this range, but it’s dicey. Better to wait and not waste her bullets. 

“What happens next is up to you,” the Major continues, his voice distorted by the bullhorn. “We can have a shootout, or you can throw down your weapons and surrender.”

Furiosa looks at Max, who grabs the inside of his elbow and snaps his fist up, giving their answer with an obscene gesture. 

The Major sighs through the bullhorn and then climbs down from the bonnet. A moment later, the Jeeps roar to life and come at them, all four accelerating rapidly. 

Max and Furiosa stay where they are, waiting for the Jeeps to get closer.

"Uh," Max says, shifting as they tense for the approaching onslaught. "I have to tell you something."

"What?" Furiosa asks, keeping her eyes on the Jeeps. Just a little closer. 

"My name’s not Max."

She blinks and glances over at him. He has a guilty expression, cringing slightly like he's expecting her to be angry. This has been bothering him for a while. 

"Can we talk about this later?" she asks, turning to look back down the sights of her rifle. 

“Um, yeah.” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Max check that his shotgun is loaded one last time. The Jeeps are nearly on top of them now, dust and debris flying as they drive straight toward them. 

As soon as she can make out the men inside, Furiosa stands up and fires through the windscreens, managing to take out two of the drivers. The third Jeep swerves when she hits one of its front tires, careening into the fourth, which is carrying the Major. Both trucks spin out and the one with the flat tire screeches to a stop as the driver struggles to get control.

Furiosa takes out another soldier with her last round and drops the rifle to the ground. She doesn't look back, trusting that Max will follow her as she charges toward one of the crashed Jeeps. She runs to the passenger side, ducking down when one of the soldiers shoots at her through the broken window. Max runs to the other side and shoots the driver in the face before opening the door to yank him out of the car. 

There are two soldiers in the back who fire at them, nearly hitting Furiosa before she manages to shoot both with the pistol. She climbs into the passenger seat next to Max and he takes off as soon as she’s inside. They go careening past the fourth Jeep where the Major is hanging off the back shouting orders. 

Furiosa leans over the seat to search the two soldiers in the back. They have two Browning pistols with extra magazines, and she reloads both before handing one to Max. 

“They must have orders to take us alive,” she says. 

“Wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Max says, looking in the side mirror. Furiosa looks back and sees that one of the soldiers in the Major’s Jeep is hanging out the side with what looks like a grenade launcher. A moment later there’s an explosion that sends them flipping over for the second time. Furiosa gets thrown into the back of the Jeep and something heavy falls on her as they roll. 

She comes to with a handgun in her face and someone barking at her to show her hands. Her right arm is pinned down, so it's a moot order. She lifts her head and realizes that the heavy thing on top of it is one of the dead soldiers. 

After some more pointless shouting, two of the men get the body off of her and drag her out of the window of the Jeep to throw her down in the dirt. The Major is standing to the side, watching as the remaining soldiers scramble around the flipped Jeep. Max is already lying on his stomach with his hands tied behind his back. He blinks at her with an unfocused, hazy expression.

The soldiers pat her down efficiently and remove her remaining guns and ammo. She half expects one of them to get in a grope, but they’re entirely businesslike with their commanding officer standing nearby. 

One of the soldiers starts to tie Furiosa’s hands, but he seems thrown by her prosthetic arm. After some dithering, he ties her right wrist to her left elbow. She’s relieved when he doesn’t take her arm off. She still has a knife hidden inside the hollow end that they didn’t find.

“Imperator Furiosa, I presume?” the Major says, coming to stand over her. Furiosa ignores him, keeping her eyes on Max. He’s blinking muzzily and squinting like the light from the sun is hurting his eyes. He might have a concussion, but he’s too far away for her to see his pupils. 

The Major walks over to Max next, looking down at him with interest. He toes his side with the tip of his boot, making Max wince. "I thought you didn't serve warlords?”

"Don't remember sayin' that," Max replies, his voice muffled by having one side of his face pressed into the dirt. 

The Major smiles like Max made a clever joke and orders for them to be loaded into the remaining Jeep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeey long time no see, if you're still reading this thank you <3


	7. Chapter 7

Max gets loaded into the rear seat of one of the Jeeps, placed in the middle with Furiosa on one side and a soldier holding a gun to his ribs on the other. He slumps over against Furiosa's shoulder and makes a pained noise as soon as the Jeep starts moving. Furiosa moves closer to his side in response, and he leans into her, letting her support some of his weight.

He winces as the engine starts and groans as they begin to move. He's exaggerating somewhat, but his head is honestly starting to pound. He cracked the crown of his skull against the Jeep's roll bar, and he can feel the tender spot swelling on top of his head. 

The light still seems abnormally bright and painful, especially on his left side. He can see somewhat if he keeps one eye closed, but squinting only intensifies his headache. He shifts and tilts his head, letting it fall back on Furiosa's shoulder like he's on the verge of fainting. He shifts outward at the same time, placing more of his weight on the outside of the seat so his back is almost to Furiosa. The position conveniently places his bound hands close to her own, and he tests the ropes around her wrist when the soldier next to them isn't watching. 

The material feels like something from the old world, slippery and unnaturally strong for its light weight. Max tugs at the knots but can't figure out how to loosen them. He stops after a few tries and concentrates on slipping the buckle that holds her prosthetic hand in place around her upper arm and shoulder. If he can loosen that, she might be able to get her left arm free. 

It's stop and go work, Max keeping an eye on the soldier next to them and waiting for his eyes to wander. Furiosa nudges Max at one point and gives him a look, both eyebrows raised in concern. Her fingers tighten around his wrist, pulling his arm painfully sideways so his palm is pulled below the numb of her arm, pressing against the fabric covering her false hand. 

She's trying to tell him something, but he can't figure out what. His mind feels numb and slow, not able to put together the pieces into a coherent thought. If she wants the arm off, he's already trying to do that, and he can't think what else he can attempt in their current position. 

He tries to get a better look at her face, but then the Jeep goes over a rough patch of ground. Every bump sends a spike of pain through Max's skull. His vision doubles and he has to close his eyes for a minute and breathe deeply to stay conscious. 

When he's able to open his eyes again, they're driving up a slight embankment. Max catches a momentary glimpse of the far edges of the column where battle has begun. Clouds of dust are hanging in the air, the neat lines of the column broken by the attacking Gas Town Boys. Max can't tell from here if the War Boys are having any success, but he's relieved by the sight. If they can make it around the hills and onto the right flank as well, they might have a chance of pinning the General down in the valley. 

Max nudges Furiosa, drawing her attention to the view, and she leans heavily on him as she peers out the window over his shoulder. They dip down the other side of the low hill and the view is cut off, making her huff in frustration. She's frowning darkly like the sight hasn't cheered her in the same way it has Max.

"Good?" he says, bumping against her shoulder. 

She shakes her head, muttering under her breath. "If they don't target the tank, this is all for nothing." 

"Quiet!" says one of the soldiers in the front seat, raising his sidearm menacingly. Max coughs and rests his head on the seat behind him, waiting for the soldier to become distracted again. 

Furiosa nudges against his arm and he remembers his task from earlier—trying to loosen the strap holding her hand in place. He pulls his hands up as high as he can manage behind his back and stretches out with his fingers until he's able to find the leather thong. This time it's easy enough to draw it through the buckle holding the strap in place and tug it free. With the buckle loosened, all Furiosa has to do is pull downward and she'll tug it right off. Once that's done, she should be able to slip her bonds over the stump of her arm. 

He pinches her arm to let her know it's done and she presses closer to him. He leans his head on her shoulder in a well-earned moment of rest. 

He tries not to wonder about where the soldiers are driving them, but it's hard not to give into his nerves and speculate. It's likely they'll keep him and Furiosa together, but that also means that the soldiers can use them against each other. Max has held up under torture before, but he's not sure how he would handle seeing someone hurt Furiosa. He suspects the answer is "badly." 

He must pass out for a while, or lose track of the time, because he comes aware again at the sound of doors opening and closing. He didn't even notice that they'd stopped moving. 

The soldier next to Max pulls him roughly out of the Jeep and he nearly falls over, stumbling until he manages to get his balance. Turning his head hurts, but he looks over his shoulder for Furiosa, squinting against the painful light of the sun overhead. She's behind him, being led around the Jeep with slightly more dignity. 

They're back in the hills, down in the valley where the army was preparing to depart before Max's sabotage sent them reeling. The Major leads the way as the soldiers drag Max and Furiosa behind him. He's walking with a slight spring in his step, proud no doubt to be presenting his prize to his boss. He leads them toward a group of trucks and tankers that have been ringed together to form a sheltered command zone inside. 

The General is standing at the center of the commotion at a small table set in the dirt. A canvas roof has been pitched above him, shading the commanding officers gathered around him. The General seems to be consulting with several men as they approach. A runner sprints past them and shouts some message to the group, quickly being dispatched with new orders. 

As Max is dragged along, he notices that one of the runners is staring at him. He's facing away from the General and the command table, a single still body in the middle of the turmoil of battle preparations. There's something odd about his face, marks of mutilation that might be from a terrible accident, or something more deliberate. Max glances over his shoulder and sees that Furiosa is staring back, her eyes fixed on the man's face. 

It dawns on Max that the soldier isn't a man at all, but a War Boy. It makes sense, in a twisted way. The General must have accepted him into the ranks for the same reason he was so willing to take in Max: his knowledge of the Citadel. This could be good, if they can turn the War Boy maybe he can help them escape or get a message to the other war parties. 

Max raises his eyebrows at him, but before he can attempt to communicate anything the War Boy turns swiftly and jogs away. He disappears behind a truck and blends into the mass of other soldiers congregated around the command post.

The Major walks straight up to the General and raises his hand, drawing his attention away from the soldiers around him. 

The soldier leading Furiosa pushes her forward to stand just behind the Major, while Max is brought up on his other side. The white covering over her head has fallen down around her shoulders, leaving her upright head bare. It must be obvious who she is now, but the General still looks surprised as the Major raises his hand and introduces her.

"General Lawrence," the Major says. "May I present the Imperator Furiosa." 

"Well," the General says, still looking startled. "I didn't expect to meet you so soon." He spreads his hands in a broad, welcoming gesture and bows his head to her. "I am Major General Gerald H. Lawrence, commander, Royal Australian Artillery. Or what remains of it." 

Furiosa seems thrown by the show of courtesy. Her mouth twists and she eyes the General with disgust. He only smiles benignly at her silence. 

"This is good," he says. "We can talk terms. Avoid all this unpleasantness." He motions around them, taking in the battlefield as a whole. 

"Terms?" Furiosa says. 

"No need to be proud," the General says. "I don't mean surrender. Only an armistice. A treaty if you like." 

Furiosa tilts her head. "You want to negotiate?" 

"Yes, precisely."

Furiosa glances sideways at Max. "How many of your men did we just slaughter? A third? Your army is in shambles and the war party will be here in moments. Why would I negotiate?"

The General laughs and shakes his head. "It was more like a tenth, if that, and you failed to destroy the M198, which means you are in check, my dear amazon." 

Furiosa snorts, unimpressed, but the General ignores her. 

The General clears his throat. "Now, I could cut through your raiders and move on to destroy your stronghold, but taking that monstrosity will require days of hard fighting and probably a hundred casualties." His voice is taking on a faster, practiced tone, like this is a conversation he's had many times before. "I'd have to camp for months to let my men recuperate and probably spend the hot season here. Not ideal. Alternately, you agree to a few simple terms—supplies, conscripts, communication lines—and we roll out." 

"You mean you'll bleed us dry and move on to the next target," Furiosa says. "Using the Citadel to fuel your next conquest." 

The General shrugs. "But you will remain alive and in control. This region is a lawless mess. Your Citadel is one of the only stable powers and you, frankly, are one of the more restrained warlords. If possible, I'd prefer to leave you in place." 

Furiosa laughs, harsh and disbelieving. "I would rather be dead." 

The General sighs and looks away, pausing with his hands on his belt. He shrugs and pulls his pistol from its holster. "Admirable," he says, cocking the gun and pointing it at her. "But I'm sure whoever takes your place will be more amenable to my terms." 

Max jerks forward, trying to get in front of Furiosa, but the soldier holding him catches his bound arms and punches him in the kidneys. Pain radiates up from his side, causing the pounding in his head to spike and sending him down to his knees in the dirt. Max shakes his head and blinks hard, struggling to keep from passing out. 

"Gerald, _sir_ ," someone says behind Max, hissing the honorific like a curse. It's the Major, moving forward to speak in the General's ear. "I have to advise against this," he says. "These people are _fanatics_. She's practically a god to them. Killing her is just as likely to inflame them as it is to demoralize them." 

"We have no god," Furiosa says, raising her voice to interrupt. "I killed him." 

The General smiles at that and chuckles as he lowers his weapon. He walks around Furiosa and comes closer to Max. "Get him up."

The soldier drags Max up to his feet by his arm, making spots appear in front of his eyes. 

The General takes Max's other arm himself and prods him with the end of his gun, pushing it into the tender spot in his side and making him wince. "Only one road warrior to protect you?" the General says, looking at Furiosa. "What, no child soldiers?"

Furiosa's eyes widen at that, startled like he threw a punch she wasn’t expecting. She tries to step forward but is brought up short by the soldier holding her arm. "My _children_ are safe in the Citadel," she says, nearly spitting. "I'm here for the monster that's threatening them."

The General laughs. "Have you looked at yourself lately?" 

Furiosa clenches her jaw, her eyes burning with a hatred Max hasn't seen since the day she killed Immortan Joe. She's apparently too angry to formulate an answer to that, simply staring at the General in impotent rage. 

The General puts his gun to Max's head and Furiosa's lip twitches, barely concealing a snarl. The General takes a fistful of Max's hair and pulls, forcing his head back so he can put the muzzle under his chin. The movement makes Max's vision go fuzzy and dark around the edges. "I really only need you," the General says. "This one is disposable." 

Furiosa's eyes dart to Max's and then away. "You think I'm not used to watching men die for me?"

Max knows what she's doing, he even knows that it's the right play, but it still makes his heart start thundering in his chest. Every muscle in his body tenses as he waits for the gunshot—the last sound he'll ever hear. 

There's a hollow click against his throat and Max nearly jump out of his skin. The General releases his hold on his hair. The safety. He put the safety back on. 

There are unfamiliar voices speaking nearby, but it takes Max several deep shuddering breaths before he's able to tune back into his surroundings. Blood is rushing in his ears like he's on the verge of fainting, but his vision is clear, heightened by the surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins. 

Gradually he's able to calm down enough to understand what's happening. Several soldiers have approached the General and are reporting to him in urgent tones. The General gives them instructions, pointing with his gun toward the edges of the encampment. It must mean the battle is heating up. The Gas Town Boys have successfully flanked around the hills and began harassing the edges of the encampment.

"Take her to the back of the line," the General says, speaking to the Major. "If she tries anything, shoot this one in his good leg." Max flinches as the General points to him before he turns to Furiosa. "We can continue our conversation after I take the refinery." 

Furiosa arches her eyebrows like that's unlikely, but the General has already turned away as more runners vie for his attention. 

They're hustled back to the same Jeep they arrived in. Furiosa is shoved in next to Max again and the Major gets up front next to the driver. 

They're about to pull away when someone starts banging on the side window. Max jumps and then winces as the sudden movement hurts his head. 

"What?" the Major barks, looking outside at a soldier standing along the Jeep. 

"General's orders," an unfamiliar voice says Furiosa takes a short inhaled breath at the sound and tenses against Max's side. "I'm to come with you for, uh, intelligence analysis-es." 

The Major frowns at the soldier, but waves his hand for the man to get onboard. He climbs into the back, squeezing in next to the soldier guarding Max and Furiosa. 

It's the War Boy. He smiles broadly as he shuts the door, the scars on his face stretching and distorting. The driver starts the engine and shifts into gear, while Max stares straight ahead and carefully avoids looking at the War Boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know every time I update the chapter estimate goes up, but we're getting close to the end now, I swear.
> 
> Big thanks to jadeagogo for helping me work through various issues and finally finish this thing.


	8. Chapter 8

Max and Furiosa get driven further away from the front lines and up a ridge on the far edge of the valley. The backseat of the Jeep is a tight squeeze with Max, Furiosa, their guard, and the War Boy all jammed in together. Max's head is pounding with a steady throbbing beat that's edged by a rising feeling of nausea. 

It's a relief when they finally stop, although getting back up on his feet again only makes Max's head feel worse. They park high on the ridge of a Mesa that overlooks the valley below. This must be the rear defensive line, up high with a smattering of soldiers protecting supply trucks and an open-sided tent serving as a field hospital. 

Max and Furiosa are unloaded in the usual brusque manner and led after the Major to a communication post with a good view of the valley. A group of men with binoculars are gathered around the open bed of a truck as they peer down at the battle. It's a very professional-looking operation—they have a hand drawn topographical map of the area and are making notes as they watch the interplay of vehicles below.

The Major steps forward to take a pair of binoculars from one of the men. He frowns as he holds them up to his face.

Even without binoculars, it's easy to see what's happening. The General's soldiers are positioned in long defensive rows blocking the narrow road that leads out of the valley toward the open plains of Gas Town. The soldiers have parked tankers and heavy trucks behind the lighter fighting vehicles, trying to form a choke point to stop the invading war party. In theory, it's a smart strategy, but it quickly becomes apparent that the Gas Town War Boys are already on the verge of overrunning the barrier. 

Beyond the wall of trucks blocking the road, the Gas Town Boys form a messy invading convoy. Pole Cats swing back and forth above them, rising above the dust and mayhem in a graceful, arching dance. 

The artillery battery is used to taking out their foes at long range, whereas War Boys excel at close car-to-car combat. With the advantage of distance gone, the General’s well-trained troops are barely holding onto the advantage. 

As Max watches, one of the trucks parked on the edge of the line breaks formation and starts swerving wildly. It's clear it's been hijacked by a War Boy and the truck starts trying to run down soldiers in its path. The War Boy speeds up and drives straight into a line of tankers, going to Valhalla in a fiery crash. 

The Major lowers the binoculars and clears his throat. "Where's the tactical group? We need them to get in position to support the front."

As the soldiers scramble to find an answer for him, the Major turns back toward Max and Furiosa. "Contain them" he says, waving at their guard. "Put them in the Unimog." 

Their guards lead them away to a small armored truck with an enclosed rear compartment. It looks like it's normally used as an ambulance, but has been requisitioned into an impromptu holding cell. Their guard opens the rear hatch and motions them inside with his handgun. There's a stretcher in one corner and some discarded scraps of bandages, but otherwise it's nothing but an empty metal box. 

The guard throws a canteen of water in with them and slams the door, leaving them locked inside. A small sliver of light shines through around the edges of the door, but otherwise they're in darkness. It's something of a relief; the dark eases some of the intense pain in Max's head. He feels along the walls with his hands—still restrained behind his back—and lowers himself down to sit against the cool metal. 

There's a metallic thud as Furiosa squirms out of her prosthetic arm and drops it to the ground. She's able to easily slip out of her bonds once it's off. 

Max turns his back to her and holds out his bound hands. "I loosened them a bit in the Jeep." 

Furiosa pulls something from the pile of leather straps that held her prosthetic together, and there's a sharp click as she turns toward him. She takes Max's wrist and holds up a small folding knife to cut the ropes. 

"Oh," Max says. That must be what she was trying to get him to find earlier. Furiosa nods and closes the knife to slip it into her boot. 

She gets up to walk around the container, her footsteps echoing in the gloom as she feels along the walls and seams to check for any weaknesses. From what Max saw, the only way out is the door they came in, which will no doubt have guards posted outside. They're not breaking out of here anytime soon. Max takes that as an excuse to close his eyes and let himself fall into a hazy doze sitting against the back wall of the truck. 

After some more exploration, Furiosa comes to sit next to him. She brings the canteen and makes Max take a few sips of lukewarm water. When she's satisfied he's hydrated, she tugs on his shoulder to get him to lie down with his head in her lap. Her fingers run through his hair, feeling blindly around the edges of his scalp. He winces when she finds the knot on the top of his head and prodes at the tender injury. "Ow, yes, that hurts," he says, swatting her hand away. 

Max loses track of time, dozing with his head resting on Furiosa's thigh. Hours or minutes later, Furiosa shakes him awake. He startles badly assuming they're being attacked, but it's only that her leg has gone numb. He falls back asleep for what feels like ten minutes before she wakes him again, this time claiming that he's snoring. He catches on to what she's doing then. 

"You don't have to keep waking me up," Max says, turning over in annoyance and trying to find the semi-comfortable position he was lying in a moment ago. "That's just an old wives' tale."

"Hmm," she murmurs, sounding doubtful. "You sure about that?" 

"Really, 'm fine. It's just a little bump." 

"Mhmm."

She lets him sleep, thankfully, and the next time he wakes it's because the truck they're locked in is moving. It's full dark now, leaving them without even the dim light from around the edges of the door. The engine noise reverberates in the empty space of the trailer, and every bump on the road shakes the thin metal walls around them. 

"The sun set," Furiosa says, her voice coming from somewhere on his left. 

Max grunts in acknowledgment. "Any idea what's happening?"

"Retreat, I think," she says. "There was shouting earlier and it sounded like more vehicles joined us. Driving up from the valley probably."

"Hm." Max was hoping the Gas Town War Boys would have overrun their position by now, but at least the Major is in retreat. It's a good sign for the battle, if not for their future as prisoners. 

It's hard to tell from inside the truck, but they don't seem to be moving very quickly, likely going slow to navigate through the rocky terrain in the dark. Eventually they come to a halt and a metallic bang rings out as the driver climbs out of the cab. 

There's a rasp of fabric and soft footsteps as Furiosa gets up and moves toward the back of the compartment. Max can just barely make out her faint outline as she presses her ear to the edges of the door. She listens for a few moments and then lies down flat on her stomach to try to peer outside through the gap between the floor and the bottom of the door.

"See anything?" Max asks. 

"Dirt" she says. "Some rocks." 

"Helpful."

Furiosa gets to her feet and comes to sit next to Max again. "No headlights," she says. "They're in hiding."

—— 

It grows increasingly cold as the night stretches on. They take apart the stretcher to use the canvas fabric as a blanket. Max should probably get some more sleep while he can, but the ache in his head and in his bad knee keeps him awake. Furiosa sleeps for a bit, letting her head tip over onto his shoulder. He feels her startle occasionally with unconscious twitches or with the effort of keeping herself awake. 

Late in the night, when they haven't heard so much as a footstep from outside for hours, Furiosa clears her throat. "Hey," she says, her voice soft and close to Max's ear. "What’s your real name?"

"Hm?" It takes Max a moment to remember his earlier confession. His heartbeat picks up and he feels his face getting hot. He wishes he never said anything. He's not sure why he did, except that in the moment it seemed important to tell her. "Uh, don’t know."

Furiosa waits, not prompting him to continue. Max clears his throat a few times, wishing he knew where the canteen was so he could take a sip. "I didn't have any parents. Not that I remember. As a kid I spent some time in a settlement... they called me ‘dog.' Never liked that much." 

The darkness is thick and silent for a long moment, nothing but the sound of Furiosa breathing next to him. She shifts slightly, letting her shoulder press closer to his own. "Where’d you pick up Max?"

Max rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, drifter I rode with. For a while. He kept threatening to dump me somewhere, but he never did." It feels strange to be saying this out loud. He's never told anyone else the story before. Or not that he remembers at least. "Car was his, and, um, after he died…I sort of—took it over? He had a bum knee too, and, I don’t know, it felt like..."

"Fate?" Furiosa suggests. 

Max shrugs, his shoulder rubbing against her own. It's as good a word as any. 

"I see," Furiosa says. She's silent for another long moment as she mulls over his tale. "The Many Mothers didn’t believe in naming children," she says. "We had—child names, ‘milk-names.’ When you came of age, you shed them, same as your milk teeth. After initiation, you announced your adult name."

Max turns his head toward her, although he can't see her face in the dark. "So you named yourself?"

"Yes, ten days before I was taken." There's a story there, but Max doesn't probe for it, knowing she would tell him if she wanted to. "Everyone has a name—a true name, but sometimes it takes a long time to find it."

"Hm," Max says. "Maybe so." 

They fall silent again, waiting as the night passes still and cold. 

When the attack comes, there's almost no warning. A single gunshot rings out somewhere in the distance and a volley of sound explodes around them. 

Both Max and Furiosa are up in an instant, crouching as they listen to the shouting and gunfire outside. There's slightly more light now, a dim glow casting over the inside of the truck—a pre-dawn attack. A few loud ricochets glance off the metal walls around them and a man nearby shouts in pain. 

Furiosa leans forward, bracing her hand on the floor and positioning her legs like she's about to take a running start. 

"Wanna?" Max asks, and she nods. 

Max runs at the door first, barreling forward to slam his shoulder into the right side where it's weakest. The frame of the truck shakes and the door bounces open several inches before being caught by the locking mechanism on the outside. 

Furiosa goes after him and hits hard in the same spot. They should be able to get the door open if they keep working at it. Max backs up to the rear of the compartment and takes another running start, slamming his right shoulder hard into the metal. His head was starting to feel better, but the second hit makes his vision swim and he has to lean a hand against the wall to get his balance back. 

"Here," Furiosa says, picking up a piece of the metal frame from the stretcher. They jam the thin pole into the space between the door and the side of the frame, and try to lever it open together. The metal creaks and groans, and the door warps outward a few inches, but it doesn't give. 

Max is about to back up and take another run at the door when someone pounds against it from the outside. They both back up quickly, Max hefting the metal pole to use as a weapon and Furiosa picking up her prosthetic arm from the floor. The door rattles badly as it swings open, misshapen from their attempts to escape. Furiosa tenses to charge, but stops when she sees who's outside. 

The War Boy smiles at them with a ghastly stretched grimace and raises his hands in the sign of the V8. "Imperator!"

Max and Furiosa exchange a look before climbing out of the truck warily. Max keeps one eye on the War Boy and one eye on their surroundings as they jump down. 

The sky is just beginning to lighten, giving them a better view of their surroundings. The truck is stopped in a narrow, rocky ravine. Several trucks are parked around them in a circle, giving them some cover from the nearby battle. Two men are lying in the dirt a few feet away, both shot dead. 

"Weapon?" Furiosa asks the War Boy. He nods and pulls a handgun from the holster at his waist, holding it out to her handle first. She has to set down her prosthetic arm, discarding it in favor of the more useful weapon. Furiosa checks that it's loaded and nods at him.

"How do we get out of here?" Max asks, adjusting his grip on the metal pole. The War Boy motions for them to follow and slips between two of the trucks, keeping his head low. Max and Furiosa stick close to his back. 

They can hear shooting close by, coming from another circle of trucks parked defensively further down the ravine. A band of soldiers are pinned behind them, shouting to one another in the commotion. Their attackers seem to be coming at them from the cliffs ahead, but Max can't get a good look at who they are. 

As they sneak along the outskirts of the skirmish, a familiar voice booms out from the mass of soldiers in a commanding tone. "Hold! Hold!" 

Furiosa lifts her head and looks toward the voice. She glances back at Max and nods in the direction of the soldiers. She takes off running without waiting to see his reaction.

 _Fuck,_ Max mouths to himself and follows after her. 

He sees the War Boy in his peripheral vision, darting ahead of him after Furiosa. They're running around the outskirts of the small battlefield, keeping low to the ground and staying far enough away to pass unnoticed. The soldiers are all focused on the enemy attacking from the other direction, assuming that anyone running behind the line must be fellow soldiers. 

Furiosa makes it to the relative safety of another parked truck and drops to a crouch. She looks back, motioning for Max and the War Boy to join her. Max catches up and sinks down to kneel on the rocky ground with some relief. Furiosa looks uncertain, scanning the ravine like she's not sure where to go next. 

Max starts to whisper a question, but Furiosa cuts him off with a raised hand. They stay huddled together for a long moment listening to the nearby gunfire and their own ragged breathing. 

Abruptly, the loud voice from before cuts through the din, mechanical and artificially amplified. It's echoing out of a shadowy alcove where the cliffs at the bottom of the ravine provide some cover. A small group of figures is standing there, too distant to make out any detail. 

Max finally realizes why Furiosa turned back—the General is here. He and the command staff must have joined up with them in the night. 

"We can take him," Furiosa says. 

"Yeah!" the War Boys whispers, pumping his fist in approval. 

Max isn't convinced. "Uh..."

"There's no watch," Furiosa says. "We take out the General and use the attack as cover to escape before anyone realizes what happened." 

Max is still not convinced, but Furiosa clearly has her mind set. When she glances back at him, he nods. 

They don't take long to strategize. There isn't much strategy needed so long as they have the element of surprise. 

There are five indistinct figures sheltered under the cliffs, their attention captured by the battle happening in front of them. Occasionally an order is yelled into a bullhorn, but it's clear that the General's control of his troops is fraying. The war party is cornered inside the ravine and they know this is their last stand. 

The War Boy leads the way, heading straight for the command staff under the cliffs like he has orders. Max and Furiosa follow him, not skulking next to cars this time, but striding forward as if they belong. They trust that the gunfire and explosions in the distance are distraction enough to hide their approach. 

No one notices until they're are close enough to make out the faces of the men under the cliffs. The General is there, his neat uniform stained red and his shirt torn. The Major is there also, and three soldiers who are likely their lieutenants. One of the officers glances back as they get closer. He's a young man, with a narrow unlined face, and he nods to the War Boy as he walks up to him. He doesn't realize something is wrong until the War Boy punches him in the stomach and sends him reeling to the ground.

Chaos erupts as the other officers realize they're under attack. One of the younger ones tries to draw his gun, but Max tackles him before he can get it out of his holster. 

Max's word narrows down to his struggle with the soldier. Bullets fly over his head as they grapple, both trying to get the upperhand. His only weapon—the metal pole—quickly gets knocked away in the melee. 

Max manages to get on top of the other man's chest and pulls back far enough to punch him in the jaw. There's a wet crack as something breaks in the man's face and he goes still, stunned by the pain. Max fumbles at the man's belt to get his gun and drags himself away a few inches to shoot him from a safe distance. 

Max's head is spinning and his vision blurred, and he crawls at first until he manages to get to his feet. The other two officers are dead on the ground, and Max sees the War Boy running back the way they came, heading away from the front line. The General must have fled. 

Max starts after him, blinking hard trying to clear his vision. Everything keeps doubling and tripling around him, breaking up into a kaleidoscope of fragmented images. He stumbles repeatedly, not able to clearly make out the ground under his feet. 

Nightmare scenes swirl past as Max runs. He passes the Major lying on the ground with one hand clutching his shoulder while the other hangs limp. Blood is streaming through his fingers and soaking his shirt as he tries to stop the bleeding from a knife wound on his neck. He's lucky, if she had nicked an artery he'd already be dead. 

An unclear figure fires at Max and he fires back. The figure drops, either shot or crouching for cover, Max doesn't stop to find out. 

He continues running and fires at another figure before realizing it's only a shadow on the side of the ravine. The gun clicks, out of bullets. 

Max realizes he's lost sight of the War Boy. He turns in confused circles until he makes himself stop and regroup. His lungs are burning and his head aches horribly, the wound there pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The space around him is oddly quiet, the sound of the battle distant now. The ravine has narrowed, growing twisted so he can't see past the next turn ahead of him. He must have run clear of the soldiers' encampment, running straight past any rear defenses guarding the back of their position.

Max hears Furiosa shout and takes off running again. Her voice echoes around him and multiplies with the voices of everyone Max has ever failed. He ignores the distraction of his ghosts, refusing to follow the deceptive path of their voices. 

Furiosa must be ahead of him, around the next twisted corner of the ravine. Max stumbles as he runs, tripping over loose rock underfoot. There's a lot of broken shale here. The nearby cliffs look unstable and likely prone to rockslides. 

Max finds Furiosa on the ground fighting with the General. She's on top of him, but clearly struggling to keep the upper hand. She has one of his hands pinned, but he's using the other to push up at her face, trying to force her backward. The War Boy is nearby, lying on his side either unconscious or dead. 

There's blood on Furiosa's front and Max doesn't pause to see if it's from her or the General. He dives forward feet first trying to kick the General as he lands, but he messes up his jump and ends up in an uncontrolled slide on his bad leg. 

The General lashes out and kicks Max hard in the side. In the same instance, he also gets the better of Furiosa and flips her over, dumping her on the ground as he stumbles to his feet. The General's trying to say something, but Max can't make out the words, or maybe it's only inarticulate shouting—wordless and full of anger. 

Max wants to get up but his body isn't cooperating. His head's swimming so badly that he's having a hard time distinguishing the ground from the sky. Furiosa sounds winded beside him, her breathing harsh as the General limps away from them. 

Before the General can get more than three steps he falls, tripped by the War Boy, who's up and on him in an instant. He punches the General in the face, causing a splatter of blood over his hands and chest. 

Furiosa whistles, catching the War Boy's attention. She pulls her knife from her boot and flips it open with a snap. She tosses it to the War Boy, who catches the handle and brings it down to cut the General's throat in one smooth motion. There's a spray of blood and a brief sputtering shout and it's over. The General's feet twitch and then lie still, his last words a gurgle. 

Max slumps on his back and stares up at the sky as he tries to catch his breath. The clouds are painted red and orange as dawn breaks with a vivid wasteland sunrise. He can hear the crunch of gravel as Furiosa and the War Boy get to their feet, but Max can't bring himself to do the same. He thinks he might lie here all day if they let him. Furiosa looks okay, to his relief, her wounds superficial and not hindering her much. 

There's a rumble in the distance that grows closer and for a moment Max think's it's a rockslide. He tilts his head back, ignoring the new swell of vertigo that causes, and realizes it's actually the sound of vehicles driving toward their position. The adrenaline surge is enough to finally get him to his feet as he prepares to meet this new danger. 

A small convoy comes around the corner led by a low dune buggy-style car. The driver is honking the horn and there seems to be a lot of shouting as the vehicles slow to a stop in front of them. Several shirtless figures pile off the sides of the lead car and Max realizes that they're War Boys—not ones from Gas Town but _Citadel_ War Boys, cheering as they run up to mob Furiosa. 

Toast is on top of one of the vehicles, her small frame outlined against the colorful sky. She's carrying Furiosa's arm and she hefts it over her head like a victory trophy as she leaps to the ground. She shoulders her way through the War Boys to greet Furiosa with a press of her forehead. 

Max sinks back down to sit, his bad knee protesting all the way. The traitorous War Boy-cum-soldier is still standing nearby, splattered with blood and looking uncertain of his welcome. Max clears his throat and gives him a shaky thumbs up. 

"Good, uh, good work." 

The War Boy shrugs and grabs a handful of Max's jacket as he starts to slump over in a faint. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual last chapter up next! Thanks to [jade](http://jadeagogo.tumblr.com/) for betaing as always!


	9. Chapter 9

Furiosa leans down to press her forehead to Toast's, clutching the back of her neck and savoring the knowledge that they're both alive. Toast indulges her touch, although Furiosa can feel her vibrating with repressed energy. 

Furiosa steps back sooner than she wants to, holding Toast's shoulders at arm's length as she examines her face. She has a black stripe of grease across her eyes, drawn from temple to temple. It's not quite an Imperator's darkened forehead, but the allusion is obvious.

"What are you doing here?" Furiosa asks, surprised by how hoarse her own voice sounds. 

"We saw your flare and came to help," Toast says, shrugging her shoulders and stepping out of Furiosa's hold. 

"I wasn't calling the _Citadel."_ Furiosa's irritated even though she knows she should be grateful they came. She's not used to having subordinates who can think for themselves. She would have killed a War Boy for this kind of upstart insolence under Joe's rule. 

Sledge smiles at her and plants one fist on his hip. "We voted!" 

Furiosa can only stare at him. "What?" 

"It's when you need to make a decision as a group," Sledge explains. "Everyone has words and then you raise your hand for the thing you want to do."

"Yes, I… know what voting is." Furiosa wasn't aware that the War Boys did too. 

Sledge nods. "Ginny showed us how. Right useful." 

"Indeed." Furiosa reminds herself that she told Toast that she was in charge. Coming after them was rightfully her decision. If she decided to let the War Boys vote, Furiosa shouldn't undermine her, even if it wasn't what she intended when she left. 

There's a loud thump behind them and Furiosa turns to see Max sprawled out unconscious with Pissant trying to hold up his shoulders. She takes a deep breath and points to the two closest War Boys. "You," she says. "Help get him loaded into one of the cars." 

The two War Boys snap to attention and run to pick up Max. 

"Carefully!" Furiosa adds, turning back to Sledge and Toast. "All right, tell me everything. What's happened?"

_____

Their small convoy works its way back up the ravine toward the General's remaining forces. Toast informs her that the rest of the soldiers surrendered to Gas Town, leaving only this last pocket of resistance, which retreated with the command staff into the hills overnight. 

Furiosa feels relieved that the Citadel's war party managed to take the highest officers. That will give her a slight advantage over Gas Town, despite having fewer prisoners. She brings the General's body with her for good measure, tied to the front of the lead car. It's always useful to have a visible symbol of defeat on hand while negotiating terms of surrender. 

The Major somehow managed to survive a slashed throat and a broken arm. He's already ordered his remaining men to throw down their weapons by the time Furiosa returns. She has him and the other officers separated from the soldiers and locked into the same truck she and Max spent the night inside—with a repaired door and proper provisions, of course. 

At the center of the camp is her reward: eight tons of menacing steel that's kept her awake ever since Max whispered the words, _these men have artillery._ The General's prize, Nel's "howl-itzer": the M198. 

The soldiers had pried the beast off of the tank it was attached to, allowing them to drag the heavy gun up through the narrow pass into the hills. The General knew that as long as he had the M198, he could still take the Citadel. That must have been his plan—race back while the Citadel was undefended and either destroy it or use Furiosa as a bargaining chip to get inside. Even with only a few dozen men, he might have succeeded. 

Furiosa has flares sent up to signal the Gas Town Boys, letting them know that the final battle is won and she survived. She also fires off white flares to show that they're taking prisoners. Slaughtering the remaining soldiers would be a waste, especially when many of them are locals who might be willing to join the Citadel. 

The prisoners are rounded up and the remaining vehicles salvaged in short order. It's still high morning by the time they drive out of the hills and return to the plains of Gas Town. 

The Gas Town Boys have created a temporary encampment with their prisoners guarded in the center and piles of loot being sorted through on the outskirts. Furiosa's relieved to see that many of the soldiers have survived and there doesn't appear to be any mass graves in the vicinity. 

A tall man with the markings of an Imperator comes out to meet her, driving up in a monstrous tanker truck. He and his two lieutenants are wearing black gas masks over their faces, but they remove them as they approach on foot. 

Furiosa climbs down from the cab of her own commandeered truck and walks out to meet them. Toast and Sledge both join her, matching the Gas Town Imperator's retenue one-for-one. 

"Glad to see you've survived, Imperator Furiosa," the lead Imperator calls out.

"You had any doubt?" Furiosa asks, and is met with a laugh. 

"No," the Imperator says. He nods toward the General's corpse, strapped to the bonnet of the truck. "Another Immortan for your tally."

"Hm," Furiosa eyes him up and down. He's unfamiliar to her, dark skinned and with a line of white raised scars across his chest like claw marks. 

"I am the Imperator Carnot," he says, spreading his arms wide in a flourish. Furiosa's never heard of him, but Gas Town is notorious for turning over leadership quickly. The toxic conditions there result in short lifespans, even for a healthy full life. Fast promotions; short reigns. 

"Thank you for your warning," Carnot continues. "It's been some time since the Citadel sent out a war party. The assistance was appreciated." 

Furiosa nods, looking away to study the encampment in the distance. She can see disabled trucks being disassembled and stripped for parts through the haze of dust. "You may keep the supplies and vehicles," she says. "But I want the men." 

It's a presumptuous statement. Joe had the right to any spoils taken in war, but she no longer has any real authority over Gas Town. The Citadel's war party is clearly outnumbered and far from home. There's no force behind her command. 

Carnot's eyes flicker across her face, considering his response. The lack of potable water at Gas Town leaves him too vulnerable to defy her openly. They would wither away in less than forty days if she cut off trade. 

Carnot makes up his mind and nods to her. "Good, I've no need for more mouths," he says. "We leave at dusk. Take the blood bags and deal with their leaders however you like."

Furiosa sighs with relief once Carnot and his Imperators depart. The fragile balance of power between Gas Town and the Citadel still holds, even if the Bullet Farm has slipped from her grasp. But it won't last long cut off from the Citadel's provisions either. One way or another, everyone must bow to the power of the Citadel. 

_____

Max wakes up on his back in the bed of a parked truck, shaded from the sun by a dirty canvas cover. His head aches and his bad knee is on fire. He spends several seconds trying to remember the last thing that happened to him before giving up. He knows that he and Furiosa were captured—are they still prisoners? Where the hell is Furiosa? He sits up and nearly topples over before a strong hand catches his upper arm. 

"Slow down, son!" a weary older voice snaps, making pain spike in Max's temple. "You're not going anywhere." 

Max turns his head and squints to see Ginny of the Many Mothers sitting next to him in the bed of the truck. She puts one hand on his chest and tries to force him to lie back down. 

"Ngh, 's not so bad," Max says, knowing the slur in his voice isn't doing him any favors. "Been hit worse before."

Ginny raises her eyebrows, looking doubtful. "That's not nearly as comforting as you think it is."

Max submits to being examined while Ginny tuts over the state of his skull and swelling brain. She makes him drink a full canteen of water and wraps his head in wet bandages, clucking the whole time about chronic dehydration and the dangers of repetitive head injuries. 

When she's done, Ginny makes him promise repeatedly not to get in any fights in the near future. "I don't care what happens, no brawling until your head feels better."

Max grunts in acknowledgement until she seems satisfied. She leaves him sitting up munching on a handful of jerky. Ginny intends for him to rest, but Max didn't actually promise to stay sitting down. Once the world stops spinning quite so much, he gets up and goes looking for Furiosa. 

They've moved out of the hills and onto the empty flat plains that surround Gas Town. The General's soldiers are all around him, separated into small groups who sit on the ground nursing their wounds and awaiting their fate. They look much less intimidating now with their matching uniforms torn and stained. Many of them have shed their heavy jackets or made purposeful alterations to their appearance—tearing off sleeves or adding small flourishes like a handkerchief tied around their arms. War Boys keeping watch walk between the long rows separating the prisoners; although the fight appears to have gone out of most of the soldiers. 

Gas Town itself is a smear of dark smog in the distance, lit by the endless fires of its gas flares. The Gas Town Boys have already started to retreat back to their walled city, towing with them all but the most unsalvageable wrecks.

Max finds Furiosa speaking to a group of soldiers who all have similar stocky bodies and heavy features. They seem to be petitioning to separate from the war party, and Furiosa agrees after their leader spits in his palm and shakes hands with her. A War Pup standing next to Furiosa makes a note on a piece of slate in his hand, updating a series of tallies there. 

She gives Max a disappointed look when she notices him. "You're supposed to be lying down." 

"I'm fine," Max says. He decides not to mention the fact that he nearly threw up when he first got to his feet. 

Furiosa makes a noncommittal noise, but doesn't tell him to go away. Max stays near her, following along as she checks in with different groups of prisoners and makes note of who's staying and who's leaving. Most of the former soldiers take up her offer to fight for the Citadel, but some of them decide to take their chances walking home. It's an easier decision for the locals who joined up with the General recently; the remaining soldiers will have a very long journey to get back to the coast, assuming they ever do. Furiosa doesn't seem to care as long as they aren't in her territory causing trouble. 

Max follows along behind her, keeping an eye on the surroundings as she speaks with each group of soldiers in turn. He doesn't have a very high opinion of the General's army, but if they can make up for the Citadel's deficit of healthy warriors it will be well worth it in the long run. 

Max moves closer as Furiosa reaches a group that is still wearing their uniforms. Unlike the others, none of these men or women have made alterations to their outfits—they still look like upstanding soldiers the General would be proud to call his own. 

A man acting as their leader stands to speak with Furiosa. He doesn't look her in the face, his eyes casting away into the distance as he gives curt answers to her questions. 

"You want to return south?"

"Yes."

Furiosa motions to the War Pup to update his totals. "Everyone who leaves peacefully will receive a ration of water, but it won't be enough to last that far."

The man nods, his face sullen. "We understand."

Furiosa frowns and looks over the group seated in front of her. She raises her voice, addressing all of them. "If any of you decide you don't want to make the journey, you're welcome to stay." There's a woman nursing a baby toward the back, which is probably who Furiosa is referring to. Max doubts the child will survive long in the wastes. 

As Furiosa prepares to move on, the woman with the baby rises to her feet. For a moment Max thinks she's changed her mind and wants to ask to return to the Citadel. The woman walks quickly up toward Furiosa, the baby on her shoulder fussing unhappily at having its meal cut short. She says something in a harsh tone, and Max realizes something is wrong a moment too late. The woman raises her hand and slaps Furiosa hard across the face. 

Max grabs the woman and pulls her backward, conscious of the baby in her arms. Both of them are crying now, tears running down the woman's face while the baby starts wailing loudly. The War Pup drops his slate and helps Max contain her, while several of the nearby War Boys run over at the commotion. 

"Let her go," Furiosa says, looking at Max. She steps between the woman and the approaching War Boys, raising her arm to block them. "She's only angry because she lost someone."

Max loosens his grip and the woman yanks her arm back from him. She steps away looking dazed, tears still streaming down her face. One of her fellow soldiers takes her arm and steers her back to rejoin the group. They're all watching, silent in the face of her open grief. 

Furiosa sighs and wipes her face like the woman spit on her as well. 

"Maybe you should leave the rest of them to the War Boys," Max suggests. 

"They're not very good at this kind of diplomacy." She looks at the War Boys gathered around them and says loudly, "Back to your stations."

Most of them trickle away, but one shoulders his way forward to get to Furiosa. "Imperator!" he calls out, and Max recognizes him as Furiosa's favored lieutenant, the most trustworthy of the bunch. 

"What is it Sledge?" she asks. She reaches up to tug on the straps of her arm like the weight of it is irritating her. 

"Uh, you're needed for the, uh, ceremony." 

____

The Major stands alone at the center of the empty expanse. He's wearing a borrowed jacket draped over his shoulders, the fabric covering a large bandage around his neck and a sling on his left arm. He looks shaky on his feet, like he was barely able to climb out of a stretcher for this. 

Furiosa walks up to him with the others grouped around her, Toast and Sledge on one side, and Max and Ginny on the other. Ginny nearly made Max skip this, but Furiosa waved off her concern with a shrug and "he'd find a way to come anyway." 

The Major nods at Furisa and looks them over slowly, making eye contact with each of her followers in turn. Max keeps his face impassive when the Major turns to him, not giving any sign of acknowledgement. 

The Major reaches inside his jacket with slow exaggerated care to extract a revolver. None of them flinch—they know he was checked for loaded weapons before this scene. 

The Major flips open the chamber of the revolver with a flick of his wrist to show that it's empty. He turns it around awkwardly in his hand and holds it toward Furiosa handle-first. 

Furiosa stays where she is and looks down at the gun with wary confusion, her eyebrows knitting together. 

Ginny coughs. "You're supposed to take it."

Furiosa stares at the Major a moment longer before stepping forward to do so. She looks the revolver over and checks the chamber herself before handing it to Sledge beside her. "Is that all?"

The Major lets out a harsh laugh. "Almost, ma'am," he says. "Usually there's a document to sign, but I suppose this will have to do." He snaps his feet together and salutes her. 

Furiosa nods. "Valor to your lost."

Ginny and Toast make the Vuvalini gesture of mourning, reaching out with one hand and then clasping it to their chest. Max is surprised to see Sledge follow them a beat later, the movement slightly stilted as with a new ritual not yet fully internalized. 

"Ours was always a lost cause," the Major says. "He didn't realize that. There might be some remnants of civilization left on the coasts, but the old world is gone and it won't be brought back through force of arms."

"Bit of a waste to drag a whole army across the desert just to learn that," Ginny says. 

"I don't think Gerald did learn it," the Major replies. "And now he's dead."

No one makes a mourning gesture this time. The Major coughs and takes a deep breath before saluting a second time. "Ma'am." 

He turns and walks stiffly away, returning to the War Boys waiting to escort him back to the makeshift field hospital. 

Furiosa watches the Major leave for a long moment before turning away and walking back toward the gathering convoy of prisoners and Citadel forces. 

They walk in silence most of the way, the only noise the crunch of their boots across the hardscrabble earth. The silence is broken by Sledge hissing out a whisper to Ginny. "Why'd he keep calling her that?"

Ginny glances at him in confusion. "What? _Ma'am?_ It's an old word, means woman."

Sledge lifts his head in surprise, looking over his shoulder like he might run back and give the Major a piece of his mind. 

Ginny sighs and looks skyward. "Not in a bad way. It's polite. Like calling a man 'sir.'"

"Oh." 

Sledge falls quiet as he mulls this over. They proceed in dignified silence for another dozen steps before he bursts out, "You're not supposed to call women _'sir'_?"

____

The column spreads out nearly a kilometer across the wasteland as they begin the long journey home. Anyone who can walk goes on foot, while the vehicles are used to transport the injured. It looks very much like one of Joe's war parties returning from pillaging the surrounding wasteland. It could be a thousand days ago; Furiosa leading a convoy after another successful raid.

Toast interrupts her thoughts, bumping shoulder with her as they walk. "What are you so sour about?" she asks. "We won."

Furiosa sighs in response. The Many Mothers have always accepted a certain amount of backtalk from their initiates, but Toast pushes the boundaries sometimes. "Yes, we won. I usually do." 

Toast laughs at her and rolls her eyes. "So what's the problem?"

Furiosa resists the urge to look back over her shoulder at the truck carrying the Major and the other officers being held hostage. "He called me a warlord."

"Yeah? And?"

"It's true."

Toast snorts. "Nicest warlord I've ever known." 

"It's not—I never wanted to _—_ to _become—_ " she can't get the words out, bitterness choking her as she remembers the look on Lucy's face when she hit her.

"You're not," Toast says, no longer joking now. 

Furiosa falls silent, not wanting to argue with her. She walks beside Toast for a long moment before blurting out, "I don't know any other way to rule."

"Who said _you're_ in charge?" Toast asks. "From where I stand, you just keep the War Boys in line and stop us from being invaded every ten days or so." 

Furiosa gives her an irritated look, although it's mostly true. She tries to stay out of the day-to-day decision-making of the Citadel as much as she can. No one needs her opinion on what to do about the rash of turnip theft or how big to build the cistern at the bottom of the waterfall. The sisters do a good job of negotiating with all of the minor factions of the Citadel and keeping everyone happy without her interfering. 

"You could try trusting us more?" Toast offers. "I think we did pretty well on our own. The War Boys are capable of stepping up when they need to."

"Hm, maybe," Furiosa allows. 

"We saved _your_ ass."

Furiosa snorts. "I had everything under control."

Toast tilts her head. "Max was unconscious and you were trapped in a ravine without gear or transportation."

"We would have been _fine_ ," Furiosa insists, because they would have been. "But I am glad you showed up when you did. And I suppose more voting would be... good."

Toast suppresses a smile. 

____

They send up flares as they get closer to the Citadel, signalling that it's a victory march and not another invasion. As they get closer, it becomes evident that the waterfall is running, mist visible hanging in the air at the base of the towers. The gates open as the column get closer, and half of the city empties out to greet them on the plains. 

Furiosa finds Max walking through the throng with a War Pup on his shoulders and several others trailing behind him looking for food. 

"Run along," Furiosa says, lifting the Pup down to the ground. "Max is tired now."

"Aw, they're fine," Max says, looking disappointed as the Pups run off and disappear into the crowd. 

They walk together, watching reunions around them as Citadel folk run out to greet the returning heroes. Dag is there with her daughter in hand, as well as Cheedo and Capable herding a group of War Pups. They wave, but quickly get distracted by well-wishers cheering the good fortune of the Citadel, rescued from disaster once again. 

Max clears his throat. "So, now that that's sorted, I guess I'll be moving on."

Furiosa laughs. "You're not going anywhere, you have a concussion."

"I feel fine!" Max insists, tripping slightly as he walks. 

"You can leave _after_ you get a clean bill of health from Hospital," Furiosa says. "Besides, don't you want your car fixed?"

"Hm?" Max looks at her in confusion. 

"The Gas Town Boys didn't take it," Furiosa explains. "The frame was too damaged. I had the War Boys tow it back with the other scrap metal." 

"What?" Max turns in a circle, looking around for the twisted remains of the Interceptor and giving himself a rush of vertigo in the process. Furiosa puts her hand on his shoulder to steady him. 

"Slow down, there'll be plenty of time to work on it tomorrow." 

Max sighs and stops looking, accepting her concern. He lets Furiosa keep a steady hand under his arm as they follow the slow procession back to the welcoming gates of the Mother's Peaks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~fin~
> 
> Thank you to unforgotten to jade for beta reading and much listening to me whine. And thank you to everyone who kept reading after the long hiatus and for your lovely comments throughout <3
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://cygnaut.tumblr.com/). I also posted a [writing playlist](http://8tracks.com/cygnaut/it-s-gonna-be-a-glorious-day-fury-road-playlist) over on 8tracks.


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